


Finding Consolation in an Unlikely Savior

by lunarella



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (movie reference), Deadpool isn't okay with it, Deadpool saves Spider-Man's life, Dumb boys being dumb, Falling In Love, M/M, Minor Violence, Wade may or may not be healed in the end, Wade still has a soft spot, particularly a soft spot for spiders in spandex, someone is trying to kill Spider-Man, the Avengers are one big family and everyone is protective of the baby, the baby being Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6879610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarella/pseuds/lunarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing he saw when he finally managed to focus his vision was the barrel of a pistol pointed at his face.<br/>The last thing he heard was Deadpool's fucking voice.</p><p>----<br/>Deadpool saves Spider-Man's life and everyone's perspective of him changes. Especially Peter's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was it. This was the moment of Spider-Man’s demise.

It isn’t incredible or extraordinary in any sense. He always pictured going out with a bang, but not a _literal_ bang. In his head, it looked something like saving all of New York, or rescuing the president, or something courageous. But nope. There he was, lying in an alley in his own puddle of blood, bleeding out through a gun wound.

The world around him was fading in and out slowly, the edges of his vision being consumed by faded darkness. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier with each struggling pulse of his heart, his body willing him to shut them.

He thought about the irony of his predicament, the fact that he was soon going to die as a result of doing what he felt he was destined to do: saving people. It was incredible. Of course fate would have it that the liable factor behind his downfall was some backhanded slap to the face of everything he stood for.

The last thing he saw when he finally managed to focus his vision was the barrel of a pistol pointed at his face.

The last thing he heard was Wade’s fucking voice.

 

 **Recap** **:**

 

Deadpool sauntered through a dark, sketchy alleyway. It was past midnight, and only morons would walk carelessly through alleyways around that hour. Frankly though, he _was_ the reason people didn’t wonder through dark alleys past midnight.

What was the reason for this late midnight stroll? Well, one of his most frequent clients requested through phone to meet with him inside of a particular abandoned building he was relatively familiar with. Why they couldn’t do this exchange over the phone was a mystery, but Deadpool concluded that if it was indeed not worth his time and he came out from the comfort of his admittedly pretty nice New York apartment for no good reason, he’d make it worth his time in a way that involved two katanas and the art of shish kabobs.

After he’d wondered through the vacant, murky alleys, he eventually came across what was undoubtedly his destination. He found himself outside of the back entrance of a building to which the door was hanging off of the hinges, unclosed while a sign reading “Devil’s Den” dangled askew from a bar above said door. What was left of the windows were shattered. The paint was faded and chipped off in most areas. In all honesty, he’d met people in even shadier locations. This was probably one of his better destinations.

Deadpool walked into the rundown building, carefully doing so out of habit. It wasn’t like booby traps could really impact him much, but it helped to have all of his limbs intact when he needed them. Growing them back was a bitch.

Upon looking around, Deadpool found it safe to assume that he was alone, or at least from what he could see he was. If someone was there, they were spectacular at hiding.

“Alright, let’s see here,” he voiced absently, taking in his surroundings. This was definitely the place. Devil’s Den was the location the man on the phone had specified. He sighed, already bored of waiting. This guy’s request better ensure one helluva reward. Deadpool was not a patient man. If this guy read his reviews (if Deadpool had any reviews) this guy would know that. Also, he would know that bringing Mexican food gave you brownie points.

After standing around for five minutes, Wade occupied himself with juggling his katanas, but established that he couldn’t juggle and ended up stabbing himself in multiple areas.He spent the next ten minutes waiting on the floor, drawing patterns and doodles into the thick sheet of dust that had settled onto the floor. He was particularly proud of one he made of Spider-Man hanging upside-down from a web and decided to pull out his phone and snap a picture of it. He was debating waiting a little longer or bailing when he finally heard footsteps approaching.

“Well,” he called, standing up while patting his hands on his pants to rid them of dust. “This better be the guy I was on the phone with, or do I feel bad for you. Well, even if you _are_ the guy on the phone, I _still_ feel bad for you. Waiting makes me grumpy. I’ve been waiting here for over ten minutes and I was on time for once. You should be more considerate towards guys you’re hiring to kill other guys- assuming you want me to kill someone, but then again if you called me for anything else, you’re sorely mistaken.” Wade greeted, watching the figure approach him. The man was wearing a basic white acting mask to cover his face, clashing with a prim white suit and vibrant red tie. Deadpool mentally bet that he could make his suit match his tie.

“My apologies.” The man said in a tone that did in no way express any regret whatsoever. “But, I’m sure you’ll find my request worth the wait.” The man ensured.

“Mhm, trust me, everyone does, but every ten out of five of those guys still manage to loose at least one appendage in reciprocation.” Wade kindly threatened, twirling a sword in one of his hands. “Let’s hear what’cha got.” Wade encouraged.

The man chuckled in a way that might have been chilling to some, but only made Deadpool roll his eyes. He’s heard a million evil villain laughs and this one was subpar compared to the rest. And cliché.

“Oh, trust me,” the man said, tossing suitcase onto the floor. Wade watched as it skittered and slid across the concrete floor, stopping just short of his feet. “Five million. It’s yours.” The man said.

Now, typically, his eyes would be bulging out of his suit, but under these circumstances, he had to keep it cool. He still didn’t know what exactly this guy wanted, and granted, there wasn’t much Wade _wouldn’t_ do, but he had to make sure. Like, if it were something like assassinating a political figure, Wade would have to reconsider and ask for a lot more money. A lot. Not to mention he’d have to jump the border and he did not want to go to Guantanamo Bay. He heard the people there were pretty nasty. Not Wades nasty, but _nasty._

“Wow, you really want this guy dead. Who is it? An ex-wife- or husband, (I don’t judge). Some prestigious figure?” Wade gasped, “Is it the man who killed your parents?” Wade asked excitedly, hopping slightly from food to foot. The man appeared unimpressed and might have even grimaced considering the narrowing of his eyes.

“They are responsible for a death.” The man said coldly, “However, that is a demeaning factor.” The man enlightened. The man’s mask was angled toward the ground as he grew silent in what Deadpool assumed was deep thought.

“I want you to kill Spider-Man. For good.” The man finally said in a sinister tone. Deadpool’s eyes grew wide. For multiple reasons.

First off, Spidey was his bro. Even if it wasn’t a mutual bromance, it was a bromance nonetheless.

Secondly, Spider-Man? Responsible for a death? That do-gooder-goody-two-shoes-mc.goody? Nah.

Deadpool burst into laughter at the very thought, dramatically slapping his knee with one hand and clutching his stomach with the other. The man became displeased with this reaction, narrowing his eyes through the holes in his mask.

“Ah, that’s a knee slapper!” Wade sighed, wiping away an imaginary tear. “You’ve got the wrong guy. Spider-Man is the prude-est prude to ever prude in the bloodshed department. He’s a regular Johnny-on-the-spot, bleeding heart, good Samaritan, every other saintly name- point is, that kid’d have an easier time killing himself before he managed to kill someone else.” Wade said, amused. He could feel the man growing impatient with him, his hands clenching into fists.

“I know what I want.” The man insisted, darkly.

“Yeah, yeah, except, you know, I don’t think you do. See, Spider-Man is New York’s boy scout. Never hurt a fly- which is ironic because he’s spider-themed and at the very least should have at least hurt a fly, but if flies are metaphorical for the bad guy’s he leaves tied up in webs for the police, then yeah, still has never hurt them. Or killed them, I should say. Maybe ripped off a metaphorical wing.” Wade rambled. “But, me,” Wade gestured to himself, “and every guy up there in the Avengers Tower have killed a number of people. I definitely outrank them though-don’t mean to brag. Stark might be a close second with those pretty fireworks. Spidey on the other hand? Nada. Zero. In fact, he does the complete opposite.” Wade rambled. “You know, maybe you’re mistaking him for me. People get us mixed up, you know. Happens all the time, I don’t blame you.” He said with a wave of his hand. “If you want me to still kill myself, I can do that.” He reassured. “It just won’t have the same effect and I can’t promise that it’ll be permanent. Trust me when I say I’ve tried.”  Wade could see one of the man’s eyes twitch under the mask.

“Take the money, or leave it.” The man ordered. That did _not_ give him many brownie points. In fact, he went down by like, fifteen already, negative fifteen brownie points. “I want Spider-Man dead, and if you can’t do that, by God I’ll find someone else to.” The man said. There go another hundred brownie points.

“Oh, no no. You won’t.” Deadpool said, slowly encroaching on the man, who stood his ground. Tough guy, but wade could see the edginess in his stance. “See, I like money, a lot.” Wade said, picking the suitcase up off the ground and continuing his prowl on the man. The man visibly relaxed, under the impression that Deadpool would accept his offer.

“I can supply you even more than that,” the man continued smugly, but was cut off by the sudden and swift proximity of Deadpool’s blade to his throat, just barely pricking the skin.

“But you’re going to need a lot more than five million for me to snatch that fish.” Deadpool warned, his voice suddenly taking on an icy tone that wasn’t anything like the passive-aggressive, chirpy one he often used. The man’s eyes carried menacing glint in them as he glared up at Deadpool through the eye-holes in his mask.

“How much.? Name your price. I can pay it.” The man offered cockily, his voice taking on a cooperative, yet ominous tone. It was cute that he kept trying. You’d think he’d have gotten it by now.

The blade pressed further against the man’s neck, nipping the skin, but not yet breaking it.

“Oh, but you can’t. Thing is, all the money in the world can’t. See, you came to the wrong guy for this one, buddy-boy. And _I_ am going to make sure you don’t go to the right one.” Wade threated in a tone as sweet and tooth-rotting as pure sugar as he pressed the blade further against the man’s skin. Logically, he knew he should question the man, ask who the big guy was because Wade knew from experience and common sense that somebody with that kind of money to blow wouldn’t actually show their face. This was a pawn. But he also knew that killing this guy would be an indirect threat towards the source. However, before he killed him, he’d see what information he could get out of him regarding who sent him and why exactly their target was Spider-Man. Whoever this guy’s boss was, he was already on Wade’s death-list and Wade had never even seen their face. Hell, he probably hadn’t even heard their voice considering the guy on the phone was likely another pawn.

“So,” Wade began, in a cheery, but blood curdling tone. “Who sent you? And what do they want with Spider-Man?” Wade demanded, grabbing the man by his collar and pulling him close, the blade nipping his skin, causing a thin stream of blood to trickle down the man’s neck.

“The only information I’ve been granted to give you is a name.” Wade tightened his hold, pulling the man closer against his blade.

“And that would be?” Wade inquired, sweetly. The man glared at him.

“Viripites! That’s it! That’s all I can tell you!” The man insisted.

“I think I can get more out of you.” Wade said, matter-of-factly. “Trust me.” he threatened as he dropped the man to the floor, stomping a foot onto the man’s chest while piercing a sword through one of his wrists and pinning it to the floor, causing him to shout out in pain. “See, I can make this _real_ rough for you, if you don’t cooperate. But, tell me what I want to know,” Wade said, twisting the blade slightly, earning more pained hollers form the man. “And it won’t be _so_ bad.”

“I can’t, I’ve told you that all I can! Take the money, go!” the man pleaded, looking at Wade with wide eyes. Wade took notice of how the man was slowly inching a hand down toward his belt, where he caught sight of a hand gun. Oh, this guy had no idea what he got himself into. A hand gun? Wade’s taken hits from AK-47s and those tickled.

Wade quickly slipped out another blade, promptly stabbing it through the man’s free hand, earning another agonizing scream.

“Let me guess: someone will kill you if they find out your tongue slipped? Well, that’s no problem, because you’re going to die either way if I don’t hear what I want to hear.” The man seemed to consider this looking to wade with wide, beseeching eyes.  He seemed to look around, eyes darting about to every dark corner.

“Okay,” the man whimpered quietly, as if scared someone would hear. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know- but you have to make sure… make sure that- that,”

Wade listened intently, but just as the man was about to speak, there was a sudden noise behind him, like the sound that a bag of flour makes when you drop in to the floor, or a very large bag of cocaine. A split second later, his vision was hazed over with smoke.

“Shit,” Wade hissed, quickly taking action and sliding the blades from the man’s pamls. He should have expected this from the way the man’s eyes were darting around, but Wade was usually pretty good at picking up on eavesdroppers. He couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t stop him from blindly flailing his weapons about, surely looking like a clown.

As soon as the smoke cleared, there was nobody in sight. Deadpool listened and examined intently for any sound or implication that may give him a lead on who else was with them. Whoever they were, they were good. Wade couldn’t here or see anybody else while he was negotiating with the man.

He looked on the floor where the man in white lay dead, someone having slit his throat while the smoke was still thick, his eyes splayed open. The suitcase was gone, figures. So much for torturing and getting information out of the guy.

With the man dead, Wade was sure that he was just a puppet sent by the big man, and he did not want anyone to have any leads. Obviously, they were taking precautions; major precautions if they had somebody as quick and silent as whoever was observing them.

There was a bad feeling settling in the pit of Deadpool’s gut, but he felt confidence knowing that at least he was aware that somebody was trying to kill Spider-Man, someone with true potential to do it too. If they have people working for them who can go unsuspected, that was a problem. A big problem. That meant that the people working for this guy had major skill.

Deadpool sheathed both of his blades, not bothering to wipe them of the blood. As he strolled away, he didn’t remove man’s mask. _T_ _his_ man didn’t matter.

It was an almost pointless trip, except at the same time, it was entirely important.

Plus, he was right about being about able to make the man’s suit as red as his tie.

#

The next day found wade on the doorstep of the Avenger’s Tower with an impatient Tony on the other side of the intercom.

“Why is Deadpool standing outside of _my_ tower?” Tony demanded from nobody in particular, staring at a holographic screen of the man currently standing outside the entrance of Stark Tower.

“He claims to have come with what he deems to be _valuable_ information.” Jarvis answered. Tony scoffed, remaining uninterested in the man portrayed on his outdoor camera, waving idiotically at the camera.

“ _Valuable information._ The day Deadpool has something valuable to offer is the day Peter admits he’s not straight.” Tony deadpans. “Jarvis, turn on the mic so I can talk to him through the intercom.” Jarvis complies.

“What do you want?” Tony asked in a childish demeanor, the microphone installed in the ceiling picking his voice up. Wade appeared offended on the other side of the camera.

“ _Rude_. What ever happened to common curtesy?” Deadpool complained, much like how old people do when referring to the youth of this generation.

“Yeah, I don’t often tend to show curtesy to mass murderers.” Stark commented.

“Mass murderer is a bit exaggerated, don’t you think? I’d go more with… frequent un-alive-er.”  
“You have five seconds to tell me why you’re here before I have Jarvis put up the tower defenses, which usually involves a lot of pain and suffering for the guy on the doormat.”

“Well, jokes on you. There is no doormat out here.” Wade retorted.

“Five-” Wade put his hands up in defense.

“Alright, alright!”

“Four,” Stark continued.

“Whoa, you’re being serious right now-”

“Three!”

“I can’t focus under pressure, this is-”

“Two, I’m putting up tower defenses now,”

“What? No fair, you-”

“One.”

“Just thought you’d like to _know_ that _someone_ is trying to _kill_ Spider-Man.” Wade said casually, hands up above him in defeat.

Stark was seconds away from demanding Jarvis to put up tower defenses. Sure, he had workers there at the moment and they’d all be forced into emergency protocol, but they hadn’t had a drill in months, or years, or maybe ever. Point in place, it was beneficial in two aspects: it got rid of Deadpool and showed his employees what to do in case of emergencies.

“What are you going on about?” Tony pressed, intrigued at the mentioning of Spider-Man’s life being at risk.

“Spider-Man, New York’s boy scout?” He stated.

“Yeah, I got that, what about him?” Tony demanded, impatiently.

“You know, for a presumed genius you’re pretty slow.”

“I can still put up tower defenses.”

“And _impatient_.” Wade continued. “I’ll say it again, try to keep up with me, alright tin man? I know you’re getting old, but just try okay? It’s not time for retirement yet.” Deadpool said, pushing his luck, but Tony was his favorite to mess with with. Except for Spider-Man, who he enjoyed messing with in a completely different sense.

“Someone. Is. Trying. To kill, as in murder, unalive, execute. Spider-Man, a.k.a. New York’s favorite spider in spandex. Really _tight_ spandex.” Wade says the last part under his breath. There’s drawn out silence as Tony thought over the information exposed to him, conflicted. He knew he couldn’t simply look away from information like this. Everyone on the team adored Spider-Man and was overall pretty protective of the inexperienced vigilante. He was young and never expressed anything other than genuine, devout intentions towards New York. Not to mention they all knew him on a more personal level as a particular, glasses-wearing Stark employee.

So, Deadpool offering this information was troubling. Deadpool wasn’t a good guy. Granted, everyone noticed the teasing Deadpool liked to subject the younger man to, and even guessed his flirtatiousness had some foundation to it. If this was a real, genuine fact, what does a bad guy like him get out of helping a good guy like Spider-Man?

“Why should I believe you?” Stark interrogated through the intercom. Deadpool shrugged.

“What reason do I have to lie? It’s not like I gain anything from this.” That’s a huge lie. He knows it’s a lie. “Just thought you’d like to keep an eye on your golden boy in case some bad-E tries to off him.” There’s another drawn out silence.

“What makes you think someone is trying to kill him? Spider-Man has never done anything worth killing him over. He’s completely anti-killing. No matter what.” Tony commented, (even complained mildly because even Stark had killed some people as his solution) confused.

“ _Exactly_!” Wade agrees. “That’s exactly what I told the guy, but he seemed pretty intent on killing Spider-Man.” Wade pauses before offering a better explanation. “See, I was offered a job and I went to go check it out because I was promised a large sum of money, blah-blah-blah (the usual) and then there was this guy and in exchange for this ass-load of money, he wanted me to kill Spider-Man, but I ever so kindly declined him.”

“You killed him.” Tony said bluntly. “Well, there goes a potential lead if what you’re saying is true.” Tony complained. “If you killed him, why does it matter?”

“Actually,” Wade began proudly, “ _I_ did not kill him, much to my chagrin, but he wasn’t the _real_ guy, he was just a pawn.” Deadpool said with the wave of his hand. Deadpool waited for a response, but after a minute or so of waiting, started walking away. “Well, now that that’s out there I’m gonna bail.” He began, only to stop when hearing Stark’s voice on the intercom.

“Why?” Stark asked, genuinely confused. Deadpool waited patiently for him to elaborate on the question.

“Because I have places to be and people to see… and other unmentionable things to do.” Deadpool enlightened.

“No no,” Stark said and Wade could practically feel the eye roll. “Why do you want to help Spider-Man? What do you gain out of helping him?” Stark questioned. It was a valid question. Deadpool didn’t just do things out of the kindness of his heart- not often anyway. There was almost always something to gain. This time wasn’t likely the turning of a new leaf.

“Let’s just say, I owe him.” Wade said before officially continuing off, ignoring anything else Stark had to say. Technically, he wasn’t lying. Somehow, or some reason, Wade did genuinely feel indebted to Spider-Man. He’d never let himself sit down and fathom why though. Not with the risk of having, god forbid, _emotions_.

Tony sat on the other side of the intercom, staring absently in thought.

“What was that about?” Steve asked, approaching Tony.

“I’m not sure.” Tony replied, honestly. Steve drew his brows together. “Deadpool said someone is trying to kill Spider-Man. But is it legitimately something we should be concerned about? Someone is always trying to kill superheroes.” Stark reasoned. Steve raised his brows.

“Spider-Man is a responsible and intelligent young hero. He can take care of himself. What I’m concerned about it why Deadpool? In what way does this affect him? And why did he tell _us_?” Steve wondered out loud.

“My question exactly.” Tony replied. “Well, you’re the boss. You call the shots for this, I don’t babysit for the sole reasoning of not wanting to be responsible.” Tony finalized, standing up and stretching before heading out of the room. Steve rolled his eyes. Really, he felt like he was babysitting all the time, twenty-four-seven with the way the team was.

“We should keep an eye out. But Spider-Man is tough. He can take care of himself. I don’t think it’s something worth worrying over.” Steve reasoned aloud. Tony didn’t say anything in response, but he agreed mostly, even with the negative feeling stirring in his gut.

Around the corner from Stark Tower, Wade walked back to his New York Apartment and hoped that the Avengers would heed his warning and keep an eye on Spider-Man. Unfortunately, he knew how the avengers saw him and he knew they weren’t fond of him and therefor would have little faith in his word. To be fair, he didn’t have much confidence that they would do a good and thorough job of keep an eye on Spider-Man. He hoped, but he knew ultimately that his word meant very little to the Avengers. Something about telling them felt right though.

Either way, he was going be spending a lot of time with his favorite arachnid.

 #

There was always something peaceful about the beginning of his patrol, sitting perched on the edge of a building, the wind whipping around him. It was like the calm before the storm. It was the moment that he ceased being Peter Parker and became Spider-Man.

Peter always felt as if the two personas existed in two different entities of himself. Obviously they were both still him, but they were on two different ends of the spectrum. Spider-Man was calm and collected, witty and clever, while Peter Parker was, while still witty, the complete opposite. Peter Parker was as graceful and smooth as a discombobulated deer on ice and Spider-Man was a leopard on the prowl, minus the killing-its-prey part.

 

Of course, the existing as two different entities of the same being also meant having two entirely separate combinations of problems. So, in other words, he literally had twice as many problems as everyone else.

“YO! Spidey!” Peter jerked in surprise, being caught off guard and nearly fell over the edge of the building, his eyes growing wide as he caught himself. Not that anyone could tell, but he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. Deadpool was a good chunk of his problems.

It was incredible how his spider-senses stopped going off at the presence of Wade. Before, they used to go erratic. Then they just gradually stopped. Peter didn’t think too much into it, but he figured it was because Deadpool just never gave him a reason to suspect him of trying to commit him harm.  He was creepy and emitted an uncomfortable aura half the time, but he wasn’t dangerous. Not to Peter anyway.

“You do know that following people around even after they persistently tell you to stop constitutes as stalking, right?” Peter greeted as the mercenary made him self comfortable, sitting down beside Spider-Man, legs dangling over the edge.

“Is it really stalking if we’re friends though?” Peter sighed, accumulating all the patience he could concentrate from the universe within himself.

“We are not friends.” He said, emphasizing each word carefully. Deadpool waved a hand, dismissing the comment.

“Lovers!” Wade chimed in a singsong voice. Peter looked up to the night sky, as if praying for strength from some bald-headed God in the sky.

In all honesty, Deadpool had never truly done anything harmful to Spider-Man. Sure, his teasing, jokes, and excuses to touch him could be really, really annoying and could even equate to borderline-harassment sometimes, but he’s never harmed Peter in anyway. Did he hate Deadpool? No. Did he think he was annoying? Yes. Does he care even a smidgen for the man? Only a little, but that’s because he always seemed to pop up when Peter really needed help nowadays. For example, last week his spider-senses were going haywire while he tried to fight off multiple doom bots inside a construction zone. The avengers were all split up, so Peter was left to his own. With so much going on, his spider-senses were cluttered and as a result, he hadn’t realized a stray doom bot sending a large mass of construction falling right above him. If it weren’t for Deadpool, he’d have a considerable amounts of holes in his body, several crushed limbs, maybe a concussion.

So, did he marginally appreciate the guy? Well, he kind of had to. But they weren’t _friends_. Peter just tolerated him. A _lot_. Sure, he was starting to get along with him more and even exchanged return witty banter with him, and _yeah,_ maybe he didn’t entirely mean it anymore when he claimed they weren’t friends. Speaking reasonably though, how could he have _not_ developed a morsel of attachment to the man when he was coming by close to every other patrol?

In the past month or so, it seemed like Deadpool was appearing more frequently. It was odd.  No matter where Peter seemed to be, whether he was on ground level in a shady alley, or two hundred feet from the ground, Deadpool always managed to seek out (Or as Wade said, “coincidentally bump into”) the hero. Peter decided that they were less than pleasant surprises.

“So, what’s on the roster for tonight?” Deadpool asks, propping his elbows onto his knees and supporting his chin in his palms. Peter can practically sense him suggestively wiggling his eyebrows and rolls his eyes.

“Won’t matter because by the time you get there, the actions going to be over.” Peter sassed. Wade whined and scooted closer to younger man, swinging his arms around Spider-Man’s shoulders, nearly knocking him off balance once again.

“Don’t be so rude. We would make the baddest team if only you’d go all Tarzan and swing me around with you. It’s not my fault I have to get places the old fashioned way because _someone_ is unwilling to compromise.” Deadpool insisted. Spider-Man rolled his eyes again; it was something he did automatically and excessively around Deadpool.

“Yeah, we’d _literally_ make the baddest team.” Peter added. It took Deadpool perked happily at first, but seemed to understand a moment later, wilting.

“How rude.” He gasped, releasing Peter from his embrace and placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me so! After all the time we’ve spent together.” Deadpool teased, feigning hurt. Peter smirked and looked back towards the city.

“You mean after all the time you’ve spent following me around?” Deadpool sputtered something about being the only proactive one in this relationship.

It was odd how not much had happened tonight, or how crime in general seemed to plummet in the last month. It was also odd how Deadpool seemed to be showing up more since then. Maybe his presence was throwing off his perceptions and spider-senses. Usually Peter would have heard a scream or sensed something by now, but there was nothing. Once, he could have sworn he sensed something in an alley and even heard someone scream, but when he got there, it was empty. He was horrified at first that he might have been too late, but there were no signs of distress or struggle. Peter had the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe the crime rate was going down.

“So, anything interesting happen lately? You know, other than me coincidentally bumping into you and brightening up your night?” he heard Deadpool say form beside him interrupting his thoughts. When he turned to look at the taller man, he was dangling his feet over the edge childishly, gawking over at Spiderman in such a way that Peter imagines him batting his eyelashes at him.

“Just normal, exhilarating patrol rounds.” Peter said, faking excitement. “What would constitute as interesting from a guy who slaughters people for money and is literally immortal?” he asked, not actually expecting a response. Wade shrugged.

“Oh, you know,” He said, pretending to pick at his nails. “Any new villains? Heroes? Interesting phenomena? A plague of Locusts? Close encounter with death? Someone trying to kill you?” Peter was about to conjure up something witty in response, but found himself choking on his words when he considered the last two suggestions Deadpool offered.

“Excuse me?” he asked, eyes growing wide under his mask. Wade looked over at him with what he assumed was his version of a sheepish expression.

“Hm?” Deadpool hummed. Peter raised a brow even though Wade couldn’t see it. Constantly wearing a mask and therefor being unable to read people’s facial expression meant that they could practically sense facial expression- or at least Peter thought so.

“Why those two specific scenarios?” Peter asked, suspiciously.

“Just curious. You know how bad-Es are today: everyone wants to be a villain and everyone wants to kill _some_ superhero.” Deadpool rambled. Peter rolled his eyes behind his mask, dismissing the explanation.

“I’ll be sure to remember you said that when shady stuff starts happening and I hear things go bump in the night.” Peter assured. From the shift in Deadpool’s mask, he could tell the mercenary was grinning. Peter had to bite back to grin of his own. So kill him, the man had a comical air to him, Peter couldn’t help but grin every so often.

Wade was in the middle of making a sexual joke about other things going bump in the night, but didn’t have the chance to finish the masterpiece before Peter was suddenly jolting to his feet. Awareness surged through his body, his consciousness peaking as his nerves seemed to spark with energy. A scream pierced the silence of New York and, ignoring the protests of the mercenary behind him, Spider-Man began to swing off toward the source. It would be a bonus if he’d manage to shake Deadpool off his tail tonight. He had a long day, or week more rather, and frankly, crime fighting was his way of letting off steam and he couldn’t do that with Deadpool hovering over him, knocking the bad guys flat on their asses before Peter even had the chance to knock out one of them.

Peter was peeking over the edge of a building in what felt like seconds later, peering down at a man and a woman. His spider-senses worked in a way that Peter could best describe as slow-motion. Everything around him seemed to move in lethargy, though Peter knew it was his mind firing neurons at a much faster rate, his sympathetic nervous system putting him in fight-or-flight mode. It allowed him to process information much faster, making the world around him seem sluggish.

The man was brandishing a gun, which was aimed at the woman who cowered away. She was young, Peter noticed. She had dark hair that framed her face in a bowl cut, a slim figure. She must have been no older than he.

A cliché scene played before him; the man demanded money, the woman claimed not to have any, the man aims his gun, etcetera.  It took all of two seconds to web the man’s gun to the wall as Spider-Man shortly leapt to the ground. Snarls and excoriating remarks were thrown at the hero from the robber, with which the he responded with wittier ones: his forte. What’s Spider-Man’s secret weapon? Sarcasm.

The man had attempted to throw a punch, but Peter was very suave in his dodging of it. He even decided to make a little game of it, ducking each attempted hit from the man until he bored, making snide remarks every so often. He nearly forgot about the woman whom the man was attempting to steel from and probably kill afterward. Upon reminding himself of that, he made quick of webbing the man to the wall, kicking the man against the brick. Once he made an efficient job of restraining the man in webs, he imitated the gesture of dusting off his hands and turned to bow.

“Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind, I’ll be here all night.” Peter said, facetiously. He turned, expecting to see the woman still standing there, but was greeted with nothing more than a brick wall. He was puzzled at first, having not seen the woman disappear or even sensed her absence. He narrowed his brows, but shrugged it off, assuming she left, frightened. Peter turned to the man he had webbed to the brick wall. He was struggling against his confines, trying desperately hard to escape the webs.

“Calm down buddy, the cops will be here soon to assist you in getting out of those. Until then you’ll just have to hang around.” Peter said, laughing at his own pun. “ _Then_ they’ll offer you the luxury of a jail cell.” He teased with a smirk. With that, Peter webbed his way to another, more secluded alley, pulling out a cell phone to call the cops and give them the location of his most recent perpetrator. Or, at least he would have, had he not perceived the sound of a gun going off. He made an attempt to dodge the bullet, but his spider-senses hadn’t processed fast enough. Peter let out a pained scream as he could feel the tearing of skin in the left side of his torso, jolting his frame as his legs buckled beneath him causing him to fall to the ground, clutching at the fresh wound.

Peter hissed, pulling his hand from the wound to see that it was coated in blood. Looking up to find the culprit, Peter found none other than the woman he had just saved, wearing a deceitful smirk as he looked down the barrel of gun. She made a show of crushing the phone beneath her heal, digging it into the gravel with a grin.

Peter clutched at the wound in his side, glaring up at the woman in disbelief. Five minutes ago, she was a cowering women being held at gun-point and now suddenly the roles were reversed and she was holding Spider-Man at gun-point.

Peter’s life was incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh cliffhanger,,,
> 
> I may or may not have included an FMA reference bc I'm not creative w names.  
> This is my first Spideypool fic and the beginning of whatever trainwreck I'm writing. I know where I'm going with this and I have it all planned out, but I'm indecisive so only time will tell.
> 
> Thoughts so far would be super appreciated!! (:


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain America didn’t win the war with hugs and kisses. Tony’s bombs weren’t pretty fireworks for show. Hawkeye’s arrows aren’t sharp for whittling and don’t even get him started on Black Widow.

The gun shot should have been a bad indication if any. But then, this was Spider-Man and not just some defenseless kid. So, Deadpool should not have been worried. Even so, he had a _feeling_. Lovers intuition. He could mentally hear the hero groaning in protest. “ _We’re not lovers.”_

Deadpool thought it was really annoying how well the other could swing away and disappear within seconds. Really inconvenient when you're babysitting someone whose life is potentially at risk. Could Deadpool simply tell him that someone was trying to kill him? Yes. But then again he was Deadpool and why would Mr. Do-gooder believe him, Mr. Do- _badder_? Easy, he wouldn't. Which is why Wade made the independent decision to keep the hero from dying at the hands of some very misinformed coward's pawns by stalking him. Seriously, Spider-Man? Literally the _most_ vanilla super hero. _Ever_. Most super heroes have offed someone or at least condoned it every so often. Captain America didn’t win the war with hugs and kisses. Tony’s bombs aren't pretty fireworks for show. Hawkeye’s arrows aren’t sharp for whittling and _don’t_ even get him started on Black Widow.

"God damn it," Deadpool cursed. "I try to do something good for once and the universe says 'fuck you Deadpool. Fuck you with a gigantic _fucking_ Arizona barrel cactus.'" He complained as he ran around another alley corner. He was pretty sure he saw Spiderman swing off in this general vicinity. Hopefully.

Just as Wade rounded another corner, he caught glimpse of a familiar red and blue spandex suit, except with a lot more red than there should be, specifically on the ground in a puddle. Deadpool backtracked, concealing himself behind a dumpster as he peered around the edge, observing the scene before him.

Really, he was due for his luck to go south. [Or, the fic needs progression and this is it.] So, he shouldn’t have been too surprised to see that there was a gun pointing directly at Spider-Man’s head, some broad behind the trigger.

Deadpool knew from experience not to judge a woman based on looks. He’d gotten his ass handed to him by women plenty of times, and he doesn’t mean that strictly figuratively. So, Wade knew better than to simply jump out, swords and weapons flailing about. It was too risky with the proximity of the gun to Spider-Man’s head. He had to wait for an opportunity to strike that _wouldn't_  outcome with the younger hero having a head full of lead. [ _Ha, that rhymed.]_

"This proved disappointedly easier than originally deemed." the woman, who must have been no older than mid-twenties said as she moved closer to the wounded hero, brandishing a gun in one extended hand. Spider-Man sat paralyzed in the expanding puddle of blood forming under him. Either Deadpool took too long to get there, or that the bullet struck something vital due to all the blood loss and the obvious exhaust in Spider-Man’s wilting, cradled position on the ground. Spider-Man did have his healing factor, though granted it was nothing in comparison to Wade’s. So, it should be fine unless fate [or the author] should have it that for whatever reason his healing factor was impaired.

"God damn it, Spidey. You had to go and potentially get your brains blown out. You _couldn't_ have just taken a vacation, or gotten wasted on a Saturday night like most college-goers. _Nope._ And now you’re a damsel in distress." Wade murmured absent-mindedly, trying to formulate a plot on how he can help the vigilante in his current predicament, looking for an opening. In the meantime, he listened. He listened, and he did not like what he heard.

“Really, you made this a little too easy.” The woman commented, with a smirk. “And here I thought I was going to have a little fun.” She said, tooth-rottingly sweet tone.

Spider-Man’s breathing was labored, shoulder’s heaving. He was no doubt trying to stay conscious with all the blood loss.

“Who are you?” He demanded. One wouldn’t even be able to tell that he was slipping into death’s embrace with the way he spoke as if he hadn’t just been shot and was currently losing a detrimental amount of blood.

“Oh, sweetheart, it doesn’t matter. In a little while from now you’ll be dead and I’ll be on my merry way to go retrieve the buss of money the big guy owes me. And they thought it would be hard. _Pathetic_.” The woman murmured, shutting her eyes to laugh in a low tone. In that moment, the vigilante saw an opportunity and took it, attempting to raise his arm to web at the woman’s gun, but not before she noticed and shot at Peter’s wrist. Even with his spider-senses going haywire, he couldn’t keep up with her movements, the blood loss causing him to slip into hazed state on top of his spider senses already lagging. What was especially concerning was that _his healing factor should have kicked in by now_ but it _wasn’t!_ So, when he moved to dodge the bullet, he barely did so, the bullet shattering the outermost bone of his wrist and efficiently rendering his web shooter useless on that arm.

Peter let out a sharp yelp, keeling in on himself. Deadpool had to bite back the urge to spring out now, because the woman still had the gun pointed at Spider-Man. It was too risky to jump in, because frankly, as much as he’d love to brag about his capabilities, he wasn’t faster than a bullet.

Before peter could even think to attempt to use his other web shooter, he could feel his spider-senses spark again, causing him to perk up. Again, his senses were delayed and before he could process what was happening the woman was behind him, and with a sickening crack, dislocated his uninjured arm, causing peter to let out another sharp, agonizing cry.

“Wouldn’t want those pesky little things getting in the way, now would we?” She said with a grin, referring to the web-shooters. “Feeling sluggish? Tired? That just means the bullet it working. Made specially for you.” She cooed, kneeling down briefly to his level. “You won’t even need me to to finish you off.” She said, standing and _finally_ letting her gun fall to her side. In that moment, Deadpool leapt out from behind the dumpster and flinging a knife in the woman’s direction. _Guns_ would have been much more affective. Why hadn’t he pulled out a gun?

The woman saw the blade coming nearly a second too late, barely dodging the knife as it skinned her cheek. The woman glared in Deadpool’s direction, but didn’t have time to process any sort of comment before he was encroaching on her, fast, pulling out a katana. On second thought, knives were likely the most efficient for this opponent. She seemed to be long-ranged, considering her preference for guns and how she managed to dodge the knife.

The attacker’s gun was aimed on Wade in less than a second, shooting a futilely at the man. All it took was a second for Wade to be close enough to the woman to kick her gun out of her hand, sending it skittering across the gravel. The woman was awestruck at how none of the bullets seemed to affect the man, desperately trying to gain back the ground she’d just lost through a series of flips and hops that seemed to be beyond natural human agility. Deadpool was on her tail with a mere few feet, lashing out with his Katana.

“This makes things a bit complicated,” The pawn gritted, leaping onto an apartment fire escape. Deadpool was ready to climb his happy ass up there, the rage from watching the assailant hurt Spider-Man boiling inside him.

“Ah-ah-ah,” The woman said in a sing-song voice. Wade froze only because the woman was pointing in Spider-Man’s direction. “Might want to help the itsy-bitsy spider out. Poor thing won’t make it if you keep fighting me. Or, well, that is, if he isn’t already dead.” Wade felt his gut twist as he jerked his head in the direction of the vigilante, only to see the young man passed out on his side in a growing puddle of his own blood. Deadpool narrowed his eyes under the mask, but when he looked back at the accoster, she was gone.

Wade spent all of negative ten seconds worrying about where the assassin vanished to as he sprinted off towards the currently unconscious super hero. Chasing her down wouldn’t matter if Spider-Man was moments away from dying.

Carefully, Wade slipped his arms under the hero’s neck and lower back for support. The hero let out a comatose groan in protest, but was otherwise limp in his arms.

“C’mon Spidey, now isn’t the time to be picky about who your knight in shining armor is.” Wade teased inappropriately.

“Wade?” Spider-Man croaked, breaking into a coughing fit shortly after. Of course, Spider-Man knew Deadpool’s real name, most people did. He didn’t exactly keep it a secret, it’s just… well, it caught the mercenary off guard because Spider-Man never addressed him by Wade.

“The mask, I can’t breathe,” he croaked, and Wade seemed to understand the implication.

“I promise I won’t gawk for long.” Deadpool warned. If Peter were more aware, he might be concerned, but at the moment, he couldn’t breathe or see, so when Wade tugged the mask off over his face, Peter only felt relief rush through him and fresh air clung to his head, his brunette hair matted down against his forehead.

Wade didn’t let himself get a good look, fearful of every wasted second that he wasn’t taking the smaller man somewhere that could help him _._ And then it hit him, that he didn’t even know where to _bring_ him. The hospital? No! If he brought him to the hospital, and then Spider-Man survived, he was certain the hero would kill him a hundred times over because then his identity would be out.

Speaking of identity _that face!_ -NO! No, no, now is not the time, focus on how to help Spider-Man, not on those freckles or brunette locks.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Peter murmured. “I always thought you’d be the one responsible for my death, not the one -ngh!- trying to save me.” Peter grunted, drowsily. Wade chuckled at the familiar sass, restoring some faith in him.

“If you have energy to complain, you have the energy to remain conscious until I get you to… Stark! There we go! He can fix you up! ” Deadpool thought aloud.

“No offense Wade, but I don’t,” he whimpered quietly. “I don’t think I’m going to…” Peter trailed off, his voice trembling. The legionnaire, without much thought, slapped Peter’s cheek, causing the hero to jolt. Probably not a good idea while he was injured, but whatever.

“No! Don’t go following the light, we’re goin’na get you to Stark and he’s going to fix this, or so help me, I’ll stuff a cactus so far up his ass-”

“Wade!” Peter gritted.

“Right, right!” Wade said as he stood up with Peter in his arms, clutching his discarded mask in one hand. The hero winced as his battered limbs were jostled about. “Alright, tell me you have the Avengers on speed dial.” The mercenary commented as he carefully and quickly sprinted out of the alley, rounding corner’s to find the shortest rout to the city streets of New York.

“Yeah… but… the phone-it’s broken,” Peter managed, the world spinning around him. Next thing the hero could consciously recall was being placed on some rough surface while some shouting occurred, most of which peter could associate with the mercenary’s teasing and maybe a threat before he was being lifted again, shortly being placed on the comfort of the passenger’s seat of a car. It didn’t occur to him how Deadpool got the car. All he could think about was how he was probably going to die in the next ten minutes. In that moment, all the people he loved, Aunt May, Gwen, Uncle Ben, Marry Jane, flashed before his eyes, all the moments, bad and good alike and he felt himself slipping away, only to be pulled back to reality when Wade’s hand squeezed his. When he looked over to the man, struggling to focus his vision. Wade’s eyes were intently focused on the road ahead of him. He was undoubtedly speeding and… his mask was off, exposing the blemishes and scars scattered about his face. Peter let himself think for just a second that Wade actually had a nice facial structure beneath it all. Peter was kind of Jealous because people still ask him for his ID when he wants a drink.

“Don’t daze off on me Spidey, we’re almost there.” Wade reassured in a solemn tone, giving Peter’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Peter had never heard that tone on him before. The closest thing he could associate it to was when he was angry, like _really_ angry. But this… this wasn’t angry. It sounded, crazy enough, _concerned_. Upon that realization, Peter felt regret flood through him because he’d been an asshole to Deadpool since they met, only because the Avenger’s, his _idols_ made a point of emphasizing the killing, psychopathic aspect of him. And here the moneygrubber was, saving his life- or trying to, where the Avengers were absent. The irony. Peter’s lips were moving before he could even register what he was saying.

“Peter Parker…” He rasped. There was a pause.

“I didn’t hear that.” Wade said, childishly.

“Wade-” Peter was interrupted by another coughing fit, and he could taste blood on his tongue. With each cough, the muscles in his torso tensed, causing pain to shoot through his body.

“Nope. Stop. You will properly introduce yourself to me like the gentlest of men after this, as payment for me saving your life. Until then, you’re Spider-Man.” Deadpool insisted, immaturely.

“Listen!” Peter gritted, attempting to raise his voice. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry for always being such an asshole to you. You’re not that bad, even though you harass me all the time and make really creepy, inappropriate jokes like, always… and I’m sorry. I should have given you a chance and-” A brief cough interrupted him, “And, I should have gone on that stupid taco Tuesday date with you… mostly because free food…  but-”

“Listen, Spidey-poo, now is not the time to fall into Kubler’s fourth stage of death. I’m going to take you up on that date later though.” Wade promised slash threatened. Peter mentally rolled his eyes since it took too much energy physically.

“It’s the third stage,” Peter found himself murmuring automatically, earning sputters from the other man.

“Obviously if you’re capable of correcting me you can stand to live for five more minutes. Me and Shiklah may not be on good terms right now, but I will _find_ a way to raise you from the dead and do this over until you don’t die.” Deadpool commented. “Unbelievable. You save a guy’s life and for what? For him to sass you about psychology? _Rude._ ” Peter felt his lips curling up into a grin. Maybe this wasn’t such a horrible way to go.

His gut told him that he was going to die. He could hardly breathe, and his consciousness was fading slowly, but surely. Five more minutes sounded like a lifetime right now. Peter wanted to stay conscious for just a moment longer. He wanted a chance to talk to Wade and not Deadpool, but another wave of nausea and unconsciousness whooshed through his mind. There was another tight squeeze to his hand and he opened his eyes again. This time, he could see the Avenger’s Tower in the distance, like a beacon of light.

“C’mon, Spidey, show me you’re still with me,” Peter wondered if Wade had been calling him for a while. His voice refused to do much more than croak, so in response, he tightened his hold on the other’s hand, which had never left Peter’s since he grabbed onto it. It was oddly comforting. “Not as responsive as I was hoping, but good enough! You’re going to feel the car jerk in a second, but I promise I’m _not_ hitting civilians. Or at least, I’m only hitting the ones who don’t have much time left anyway.” Peter wanted to smirk at the sarcasm in Wade’s voice. He wanted to retort because at the very least, he’d go out doing what he does best: being a witty little shit even in the most inappropriate of times.

A second later, peter heard a large crash as the car jolted and came to an abrupt stop. There was a firm arm over his chest, keeping him in place. Peter could hear glass shattering and crumbling around them, clanking as it hit the floor. There was shouting, angry mostly. And then concern…. And then more shouting… and then… nothing.

#

 

“Wade mother _fucking_ Wilson, what in hell are you doing?!” Tony all but screamed as he stood, observing the damage Deadpool had just caused.

“Actually, my middle name is Winston. Common mistake.” Deadpool jested.

What damage had Deadpool caused? Well, he only just drove some stranger’s hijacked car into the Avenger’s tower, effectively shattering the glass wall and successfully making entry into the tower. It was dramatic, but he didn’t want to wait for someone to answer the doorbell. They’d move a lot faster to the sound of alarms. Of course, since it was the Avenger’s Tower, every alarm was triggered, which meant that all the Avenger’s stood [they must be having a sleepover], some in full on gear like Natasha and then some like Clint, who was not having it and wore his Pajamas [are those bunny slippers?] with his arrows slung over his back, bow in hand. So, Wade figured Tony wouldn’t answer. What? He didn’t want to risk it! This is an _Emergency_.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m _really_ going to kill him.” Tony said, not to anyone in particular, but all the Avenger’s facial expressions seemed to express agreement. Was Banner turning green, or was it the lighting?

“That’s fine and dandy and we can totally do that sometime, but before that, Spider-Man is dying in the passenger’s seat and you need to save him. _Now._ ” Wade demanded, longwindedly as he stood from the car, wasting no time in pulling the unconscious man from the passenger’s seat, bridal style. “He’s going to _die_ if you don’t help him.” Deadpool said in a threatening tone. Tony seemed unfazed at first, unable to process the scene before him. All he could do for a second too long was stare at the familiar, bleeding, young man who laid limp in Wade’s arms. _Peter._

“Medical Wing.” Was all Tony could manage as the sight of his battered assistant. “Medical Wing, _now!_ ” Tony instructed fervently.

The Avengers needed no more instruction, either getting out of the way or helping the best they could. When they maid it to the medical wing, Wade was instructed to lay Peter onto an operating table as most of the Avengers, save for Bruce and Tony, stood off to the side, waiting for instruction on how they could help.

“What happened!” Steve demanded. Deadpool didn’t bother addressing the accusatory tone.

“Patrol, he was saving some bitch’s ass and she ended up being a pawn. I’m going out on a limb here in saying that she was probably a part of whatever group that was trying to get me to kill him. You know, the one I warned you about?” Deadpool said, bitterly sarcastic. “He was shot. Twice. Torso and right arm. His left arm is probably dislocated” Wade said, uncharacteristically serious, trying to aid the scientists currently beginning to go about performing surgery on the vigilante. Banner was placing an oxygen mask on Peter, shortly pressing an IV into his arm and hooking him up to a heart monitor in record timing.

“I can see that!” Tony growled, frustrated. He was currently cutting open the top part of peter’s suit, exposing the bloodied skin there and the gaping bullet wound. He soon grabbed hold of a prod and a pair of forceps to assess the wound in his torso, his face contorting into confusion and impatience. “There’s no bullet!” He scowled at Wade.

“This doesn’t make any sense, there should be a bullet here,” Bruce commented, concerned and baffled as he too examined the wound. “There’s not an exit wound.” Bruce murmured. Wade thought back to what the assailant had said. _“Made specially for you”_ Rang through his ears.

“The bullet wasn’t normal- the woman said it was made for him, so my bet is that it disintegrated into his bloodstream,” Deadpool babbled, assuming he probably didn’t make much sense but Spider-Man was _dying_ in front of him.

“That’s… not likely, right?” Bruce commented, but didn’t disagree.

“Entirely feasible.” Stark chimed, resting his medical tools on the operating table. “I need blood tests, now! Pronto! His healing factor should have kicked in by now, something is wrong. Wilson’s the only one getting stuff done and that’s saying something! Blood test!” Wade would have been flattered had it not been for the current situation.

Bruce was on the job immediately as Tony retrieved substitute blood, Peter having lost far too much already. Deadpool hadn’t been disturbed by the sight of blood in a _long_ time.

It didn’t take Bruce long at all to have a sample of Peter’s blood, what with Stark’s advanced technology.

“Oh no,” Bruce said absently, observing a holographic screen. Tony didn’t look away from what he was doing, but minded Bruce.

“What ‘oh no’, what are you oh-no-ing?” He asked, without looking away from his task of hooking Peter up to a bloodbag. 

“This isn’t good… that bullet- we need to completely flush his system or find something to counter this _fast_. Whatever that bullet was, it disintegrated into some kind of microorganism and it’s attacking all the white blood cells that Peter’s healing factor is producing, anyone who isn’t helping, step out!” Bruce demanded, patience slipping as he began tampering with blood samples.

“Widow! Hawkeye! Question Wilson, we need to know everything that happened!” Steve demanded, exiting the room. Wade didn’t budge, fixed on staring at Peter.

“Come on, soldier. He’ll be fine.” Steve promised Wade, who hardly acknowledged him. He still had Peter’s mask grasped in his hand, his own having been discarded in the car he’d stolen. “We’ve got two of the best scientists in the world working on him.” He continued, as if sensing Wade’s concerns. Without another word, Wade followed the others out of the room, leaving the two scientists to mend Peter.

Wade was thankful, if only because he didn’t have to suffer through hearing the slowing heart monitor, or look at Peter’s slack, bloodied body any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhh?? I'm having second thoughts about this? 
> 
> Also thought I should mention that this is a clusterfuck of the headcanons and universes that I prefer. I kind of picked and chose what I liked from the comics/movies. So, this is not accurate to the comics or movies, in other words. So, sorry if you wanted accuracy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter had low-key began to develop familial bonds towards all of the Avengers. Steve was like the go-to uncle when you needed help (sort of inspired by Uncle Sam). Natasha was the protective older sister who spends most of her time away from everyone because she’s too cool and makes you both happy and nervous when she talks to you. Clint was like the other uncle who you'd go to for shits and giggles, and probably the reason you'd need to go to the other uncle (Steve) for help. Bruce and Tony were like his surrogate fathers, considering he spent most of his time at the tower with them. They were science buddies.

Peter awoke to the steady beeping of a heart monitor, blearily opening his eyes. He was greeted with harsh, pale lights from above him, causing him to cringe and clench his eyes.

Squinting, Peter drew his arm up in an attempt to block the bright light, or at least he would have, had it not been for the throb of pain that shot through his right arm upon attempting to move it. He was met with more pain when he moved the other, though not nearly as much as the other.

Wincing, Peter managed to bring a thickly bandaged hand before his face, futilely blocking the light from his eyes. He felt groggy, so much in fact that waking up in a hospital room didn't quite faze him. He was just confused about what was happening, why he was there, and why both of his arms and waist echoed dull throbs throughout his body every time he moved.

As Peter attempted to sit up, his face morphed into distress, a strangled whimper escaping his lips as pain shot through both his arms, the sore muscles in his torso tensing and Peter suddenly remembered being shot at. Twice.

His perceptions were skewed and his mind was hazy. It was a familiar feeling, one that Peter could best compare to being under the influence of laughing gas from when he got his wisdom teeth pulled, but not quite as bad. Be that as it may, Peter hadn't realized Steve hurriedly walking into the room. He only noticed the man's presence when he felt arms supporting his back, helping him into an upright position so to not strain his sore muscles.

"Careful, Peter," Rogers warned as he adjusted the bed so that Peter could sit up and lean against the back for support. Panic raced through Peter's mind at the mentioning of his name.  _His name!_ His shock must have been apparent because Steve addressed his concern shortly.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble. It’s really no surprise that you’re Spider-Man. Kudos on being able to live the life of a college student, a Stark employee and Spider-Man. That's a lot of work." Steve credited. Peter was at a loss for words.

"Is it-are you guys the only ones who know? As in, the Avengers?" Peter asked a little frantically.

"Just us." Steve reassured, shortly adding, "and... Deadpool. Somehow he knew your name... Do you two... Talk?" Peter narrowed his brows in confusion. It sounded like there was some implication underneath the question, but Peter was high off painkillers and couldn't muster the mental capacity to decipher it.

"Wade..." Peter whispered to himself.

That’s right. Wade _saved_ him. Wade fucking Wilson saved Peter Parker. All the events caught up to Peter as he flopped back against the cushion behind him with a sigh.

Okay, so this was a lot to take in. Deadpool and the Avengers knew he was Peter, who Peter believed originally wrongly perceived as just a nerdy employee of Stark's who everyone loved dearly.  _Not_ New York's friendly, arachnid themed vigilante. He wondered how royally fucked up his life would be after this. Getting a job as one of Stark's top scientists and Tony Stark’s personal assistant paid generously, and Peter finally had enough income to live in his cozy little apartment without the impending worry of how he might pay his next rent on top of paying for school and food and everything else. The thought of losing this job because of his alias as Spider-Man was concerning.

On top of that, Peter had to worry about the fact that someone was _trying to kill him_. Just what he needed. Finals were right around the corner and he had someone trying to kill him. Wonderful.

“Do you have any leads on who tried to kill me?” Peter asked, voice hoarse. Steve shook his head in disappointment.

“Not yet. Everyone is looking into it. The most information we’ve gathered was offered by Deadpool, who seemed to know quite a bit.” Peter furrowed his brows.

“Like what?” Peter inquired curiously. Steve looks surprised.

“He didn’t tell you anything?” Steve queried. Peter shook his head.

“Told me what?” Steve seemed put off, drawing his brows together in mild confusion, but continued.

“Somebody sought Deadpool out about a month ago. They offered him money in exchange for… your death.” Steve paused, expecting some sort of response out of Peter, who listened intently. “Deadpool declined, obviously… He even warned us and we… we didn’t take him seriously at the time.” Steve explained, shamefully. Peter stared blankly at Steve, unsure how to respond.

Deadpool was offered money to kill Spider-Man. Deadpool was offered money to kill Spider-Man and _refused_.

“We shouldn’t have disregarded something so serious. We take full responsibility for what happened and we apologize.” Peter nodded, processing everything best he could as an odd feeling crept in to his gut.

Peter should have been mad at the Avengers, and somewhere buried inside him, he was probably livid. But his mind was still lingering on the fact that Deadpool chose not to kill him. Deadpool, who only ever self-acted.

“Does Deadpool know I’m alive?” Peter asked. Steve hesitated.

“You only just came back to consciousness, Peter. We’ll contact him, if you like, once you’ve recovered.” Steve offered, Peter nodded.

“Yeah, I mean, he only saved my life. Take your time.” Peter teased, not intending for any malice to slip through his voice. Steve flinched.

“I’ll see to it that he is contacted.” Steve promised. The sincerity in his voice almost made peter regret the previous bite in his voice. _Almost_.

"How long was I out?" Peter asked, looking down at his bandaged arms. He couldn't see his torso being that there was a hospital gown in place, but he could feel tightly wound bandages there.

"A week and three days." Steve informed. "You had us worried there for a while. We were afraid we'd miss you longer than anticipated." Peter didn't respond, thoughts bombarding his mind. Like how upset Aunt May would be that he hadn’t visited in a week, and _school_.

"I'm going to have to make up so much work." Peter groaned with an exhausted sigh, flopping his head back and looking up at the roof. Steve patted his shoulder with a light chuckle.

"If you can survive a bullet wound like that," he gestured to Peter's torso. "A little homework won't kill you." Steve said in a guardian-like tone.

Peter had low-key began to develop familial bonds towards all of the Avengers. Steve was like the go-to uncle when you needed help (sort of inspired by Uncle Sam). Natasha was the protective older sister who spends most of her time away from everyone because she’s too cool and makes you both happy and nervous when she talks to you. Clint was like the other uncle who you'd go to for shits and giggles, and probably the reason you'd need to go to the other uncle (Steve) for help. Bruce and Tony were like his surrogate fathers, considering he spent most of his time at the tower with them. They were science buddies.

See what drugs do to you? They make you compare the Avengers to a weird, dysfunctional family.  Maybe it was Peter's subconscious desire for a family since all he had was aunt May.

"Did he tell you anything else?" Peter murmured. Steve shook his head.

"He left after questioning." He explained as he fell silent, opening his mouth but not saying anything, like he wasn’t sure if he should say whatever he was about to. "He was worried. I don't think anyone has seen him like that in a while. You were pretty banged up." Peter nodded.

“Yeah. Who knew, right?” Peter replied. Steve hesitated before continuing.

“I know you only just came to, but it’s important that we ask you some questions.” Steve explained. Peter sighed, nodding.

“Don’t take my word for all it’s worth. Whatever painkillers I’m on are doing their job and then some. I’m pretty sure half of my brain cells are fried.” Peter warned. Steve chuckled.

“I’ll take that into account.” He assured with a grin before continuing with an onslaught of questions, like who his attacker was. Peter figured they already knew this part. They likely just wanted to see how well his story matched with Deadpool’s, which, considering how erratic the man was, Peter could understand.

Peter offered the best explanation he could of the woman assailant and the situation. He explained the man with the gun, how the woman appeared to be nothing more another damsel in distress. How she pulled the gun on him. And then how Deadpool came uncharacteristically to the rescue.

“I thought at first that I hadn’t sensed her because I originally perceived her as a civilian. Then suddenly she _was_ a threat. But now that I’m not dying and I can think more clearly, that seems highly unlikely.” Peter explained, muttering “Not that I’m in a much better mental state right now. But at least I’m not dying.” Steve’s face clearly expressed that he was opposed to the death jokes, but didn’t say anything. Not like he had any room to complain. This was Peter’s coping mechanism.

“Elaborate?” Steve insisted. Peter thought back to the night, trying to recall how he felt.

“It was like my spider-senses were being subdued by some other outside source.” Peter clarified, wanting to use his hands to help him explain, but each subtle throb reminded him not to. Steve appeared troubled by this, drawing his brows together.

“You’re certain? That has never happened before? It doesn’t happen when you’re tired, exhausted, malnourished, or sick?” Peter shook his head.

“Trust me: College student, Stark employee and vigilante.” Peter smiled. “Sleep is rare and all-nighters occur regularly. It would have happened sooner if it were from lethargy.” Peter negated. Steve nodded once again, folding his arms over his chest.

“In other words, you’re implying that the enemy had something that was stunting your… _advanced_ senses.” Peter wanted to roll his eyes at Steve’s phrasing of his spider-senses. What else was he supposed to call them? He was spider-themed, bit by a spider, granted his powers by a spider-bite, it makes sense to call them spider-senses.

“That’s the most logical reason.” Peter reasoned, using his bandaged hand to rub his forehead, trying to ignore the dull ache caused from moving it. Steve nodded, a concerned expression on his face.  He nodded in the direction of a window, where the glass was tinted so that Peter couldn’t see the other side. He assumed Steve was nodding to someone, probably having them record the information since on the other side of the window was the observation room.

"That’s all for now. We'll need to keep you here for a while longer, for health purposes." Steve informed, standing up. Peter's eyes went wide and he was about to protest because  _he has things he needs to take care of_ like  _college_ and  _paying his rent_ and _seeing his aunt_ when Steve cut him off, holding up a hand.

"Don't worry. We've already sent your university a letter, claiming you’d been injured in a lab experiment. We can have them send us your work. This is for your own good, Peter." Steve said in the fatherly tone again. Peter groaned.

"A week tops! I am a grown man. I can take care of myself." he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. Honestly, Peter was twenty-four. What would it take for the world to see him as an adult? He couldn't help it if he was lean by nature and slightly shorter than the average man and had chronic-baby-face syndrome. He was  _still_ a _full grown_ , _responsible_ _adult_.

"Well, technically Peter, your prefrontal cortex hasn't entirely developed yet." Peter heard doctor Banner say, who he had no idea even walked in. Peter will never do drugs, this is ridiculous. His spider-senses weren’t so much as tickling, courtesy of these pain killers. Peter let out an annoyed grunt at Banner's comment.

"Don't worry, Peter. Give it about two more years and you’ll be an actual, full grown, adult, with optimized, decision making abilities granted by a fully developed prefrontal cortex.” Banner teased. playfully.

“This is ridiculous. I just wake up from a short coma, and I’m already being ridiculed. Unbelievable.” Peter complained, only joking a little.

“Superiority.” Banner bragged. Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s good to see you’re well enough to complain.” he chuckled, earning an unappreciative look from Peter. “In other words, it’s great to have you back, Peter.” He said, walking up to Peter to ruffle his undoubtedly already messy hair. Peter couldn’t even fight him off because he was handicapped at the moment, but he did shoot him a nasty look. “Tony has been a nervous wreck since you went under.” There was a sudden voice from above them, which Peter recognized to be Tony’s voice from a speaker overhead.

“Have not.” Tony claimed. Peter grinned, spotting the window. The observation room was now lit, so Peter could see as Tony stood on the other side in front of a mic, a grin threatening his lips.

“He’s lost without the assistance of his younger associate who is much more enthusiastic about helping him than anyone else. He called for your assistance everyday at the very least.” Banner continued. Peter smirked.

“Yeah, well at least I didn’t spend thirty minutes talking to an empty seat.” Tony countered. “The lack of unnecessary witty retorts and commentary wasn’t an immediate giveaway?”  Banner scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at Tony. Peter felt a disgustingly warm feeling blossoming inside him.

“I’ll have you know that my witty commentary is entirely necessary. It’s autocorrect in real life.” Peter defended himself.

“Okay, correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re never _not_ like this, so you’re implying that I’m always wrong and that doesn’t add up, given my reputation.” Tony challenged.

Peter shrugged, struggling to keep a straight face, but his amusement was evident in his eyes. “You’re wrong.” He simply responded. Tony’s expression shifted to an exaggeratedly feigned enlightened one before he shook his head and stepped away from the microphone.

“Incredible argument.” He rejoined upon returning to the mic. Peter beamed, huffing a laugh before seeming to melt into silence, his concern catching backup to him.

"So... Where do I stand workwise?" Peter asked with hesitance. Again, his current job was incredible and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. But, he also wouldn’t trade being Spider-Man for the world.

"Paid leave." Tony said like it was obvious as he walked into the room. Peter gaped.

"Seriously?" Peter asked in disbelief, sitting up suddenly and immediately regretting the pain that shot through him. He could hear Steve reminding him to be careful.

 Paid leave? Maybe he'd start getting himself into sticky situations more often.

"We didn’t exactly prevent your current situation. We take responsibility for the fact that had we taken Deadpool's warning seriously, you wouldn't be in this situation." Steve clarified. Peter blinked and leaned back against the firm cushion behind him.

"That kind of makes me uncomfortable." Peter admitted reluctantly. _Everyone_ sighed.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Peter." Steve warned. Peter rolled his eyes at Steve’s old man lingo and advice.

"If it  _really_ bothers you," Bruce began, drawing out his voice. "You could do coffee runs when you're back on your feet, which, considering your healing factor is back on track, should only be in about a week." he suggested. Peter smiled.

"Sounds good."

#

Just under a week later, Peter finally persuaded everyone that he was fully capable of walking without keeling, and that sitting all day, making his muscles stiff, wasn't going to help him any.

The bullet wound was mostly healed, but it still hurt to move too much. Tony persistently warned him not to do any heavy labor or it would tear. His wrist was healing nicely and his arm, which had previously been dislocated, was now wrapped firmly, but he no longer needed a sling and cast. Perks of having advanced healing.

Fury personally spoke to Peter with the Avengers present, forewarning him not to be on the streets as Spider-Man for a while. Peter wanted to object immediately, but came the the consensus that he was useless if he was dead. The person he was up against knew what they were doing.

Even though they spoke about that aspect of the situation, nobody had yet spoken to him about how the Avengers knowing he’s Spider-Man affects everything else.

So, when Peter found himself sitting at a computer in the lab, tinkering with his medical results and what little files they had on his case, he asked,

“So, when are we going to talk about me being Spider-Man?” interrupting the the light clinking of metal where Tony lay on his back beneath a generator, tampering with the wiring. Bruce also ceased what he was doing, his hands stilling over a holographic screen as he glanced over at Peter.

“What’s there to talk about?” Tony asked, pushing himself out from beneath the generator, patting his grease-darkened hands together. Peter shrugged nervously.

“Well, it kind of changes things. I mean, now you guys know I’m a vigilante superhero whose been putting himself above law enforcement and all that grand, legal stuff.” Peter explained, timidly. The last thing Peter needed was for things to go south when they finally seemed to be running smooth. He finally had a stable job with stable income and enough money to pay rent and college without living off a strictly ramen noodle diet.

“What exactly does it change?” Bruce asked. Peter drew his brows together, looking at both of the men like they had told him the holocaust was a government farce.

“Um. A lot?” Tony and Bruce exchanged glances. “You can’t seriously tell me that we’re going to ignore the fact that _I_ am Spider-Man, are we?” Peter asked, mildly annoyed

“Of course not.” Tony replied, waving a dismissive hand. “We already knew.” Tony said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. Peter choked on nothing.

“What?!” Peter demanded, spinning around in his chair to face both men. Bruce had the expression of someone who didn’t want to get involved, and just looked between Tony and Peter with concern. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Come on, kid. SHIELD has files on _everyone_. You didn’t think we had files on you too? We only have access to the best spies in the world and frankly, you’re smart, but you’re not _that_ smart. Sometimes you _could not_ be more indiscreet when you crawled into your apartment at three in the morning.” Tony continued. Peter gawked, leaning back in his chair.

And he thought he was so sneaky. Of course they knew. Peter felt extremely outwitted and he hated it. If this is what he made the people around him feel like all the time, he felt a smidgen of remorse for them.

“So… This whole time you guys knew?” He asked, looking up over at Bruce and Tony with a betrayed expression, who both nodded, Bruce more guiltily than Tony who seemed anything but guilty. “And nobody bothered to tell me ‘hey by the way, you don’t have to make a fool out of yourself and pretend to not be Spider-Man, we know’ seriously?” Peter carped, throwing his hands up, exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tony said coolly, waving a hand as if to disperse of Peter’s concern.

“It does! How many times have I praised myself as Spider-Man? Like, a _plethora_! I was building it up for some great reveal and then we’d all laugh about it, but this whole time you guys probably just thought I was being a cocky little shit!” Peter huffed.

“Steve wouldn’t appreciate that language.” Tony reprimanded, raising a condescending finger at the younger man. Peter wanted to rip out his hair and break Tony’s finger.

“Relax, kid.” Tony continued, his voice taking on something akin to an understanding tone. “Regardless of all your _irrational_ concerns, you being Spider-Man doesn’t change anything. One of the reasons we hired you was because we knew you were a young superhero and figured it best to keep a closer eye on you. _And_ because you’re a genius in the making. It was a win win.” Tony shrugged, standing up. Peter wanted to complain some more but the compliments caught him off guard. If it weren’t for the situation, he’d have basked in the praise because _Tony Stark_ just called him a _genius_!

There was a drawn out moment of silence, where Tony moved over to a tool kit to dig around in search of a specific tool. Bruce was trying to look busy, but really, he was jumping between tabs, trying to avoid the conversation.

Peter sighed quietly through his nose as he sat back in his chair, drawing a leg up to his chest to wrap his arms around it. He rested his chin against his knee in thought, taking a moment to let it sink in that SHIELD knowing he’s Spider-Man wasn’t all that detrimental to his life. It felt like that couldn’t possibly be all, like there had to be something bad following this discovery because hello, this is Peter’s life. Things haven’t been simple and sweet since he was bitten by a radioactive spider and even before then, he struggled with being poor and loosing his parents at a young age. He thought for sure he was due for some catastrophe to occur in this department of his life, but… maybe not.

“So, I’m guessing me being Spider-Man gives me zero leverage in you guys considering me a place in the Avengers?” Peter asked, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice. Bruce chuckled at the playfulness, but Tony threw a wrench in his direction. He missed by at least a meter.

"Go get me some coffee." Tony demanded, wiping greasy fingers on his pants. Peter figured that whatever Tony was doing, it wasn't actually important. Sometimes Tony just started doing stuff that didn't actually have a purpose. He just wanted to "test something" or "see what would happen". Peter grinned, standing up from his perch on the computer chair.

Peter had previously been working on figuring out what parasite exactly had invaded his body, or what Peter found more fascinating, how they managed to compress it in to an effective bullet. He really shouldn't have been so intrigued by the thing that nearly ended his life, but it was incredible! Plus, it couldn't hurt to go further in depth. Natasha and Clint's questioning proved to be pretty useless. They asked Peter what he could recall, and he told them about the girl, what she looked like, what he remembered her saying. They told him everything they knew, most of which was offered from Deadpool who Peter hadn't seen since the incident.

"Should I just bring in the whole machine?" Peter teased, stretching his sore limbs, wincing as he pulled a sore muscle in his abdomen.

"Hey, you're the one who insisted on working so I'm paying you to be the coffee lackey until Monday." Stark countered. Peter rolled his eyes with a smirk.

"I'll have a cup too!" Banner called, who was also observing remnants of the bullet on a holographic screen.

"Yeah, I'll just hold both of those, with my two, perfectly functioning arms." Peter called sarcastically, raising both of his bandaged arms in the air to emphasize his point. His arms were mostly perfectly functional now, but Peter liked to poke fun at the two older men.

"Oh, you're fine!" he heard Tony grouch as he walked out, earning a chuckle from Peter.

Peter was thankful to be up and moving around. Being in a hospital bed for two weeks did a number on his body, even if he was unconscious for the first half of it. Sure, it helped his wounds heal faster, but his joints felt stiff.  In the time that he was out, he was relieved when he heard nobody informed aunt May about his hospitalization. She would have flip out. Even Aunt May had a bad habit of babying him. He had a horrible fear that she’d treat his workplace just like how she treated school. She’d waltz in there, hand on her hip and a scowl on her face and demand to know what happened, how it happened and who was responsible. When he gets better, he had plans on telling her that school and work had been tight. That’s what he always told her.

Once in the kitchen, Peter sought out two coffee mugs and set to preparing the coffee. It wouldn't take long to have two cups of coffee ready, since neither Steve nor Tony put much of anything in their coffee. On rare occasion they’d slip some creamer into it, but more often than not, they just drank it black. Peter briefly considered getting himself a cup, but didn't feel like balancing three cups at once, not that it was beyond him because he could totally do it. Plus, since he had nothing to exert his energy on, he'd end up a jittery, over-talkative mess.

As the coffee brewed, Peter leaned over the counter and he thought about everything that had happened recently. It was hard to keep his mind from straying to it, part of the reason he insisted on Tony letting him do something. He found himself thinking about Deadpool, who he'd recently found himself thinking about often as of late. How could he not, after what happened?

He couldn’t seem to accept that Deadpool chose him over money. The mental connection still wasn’t being established. Like, Peter knew, but his mind refused to accept it, like seeing something as absurd as a talking animal. On that note, was he even aware that Peter was okay and not six feet under? Did anyone tell him? Peter had his suspicions, and it made remorse settle into the pit of his gut because Deadpool was actually  _worried_ about him. When did Deadpool worry anyone? And why  _Spider-Man?_ What did Spider-Man ever do to make Deadpool want to help him? All he ever did was sass him, leave him hanging (literally on occasion) and shoot him down (not literally).

Lost in thought, when Peter heard the automatic kitchen door hiss open, he didn’t think much of it because his spider-senses hadn’t gone off, implying that it was somebody he trusted. Since this section of the tower was strictly Avengers and Peter, Peter assumed it was one of them. At least, he did until he heard feet running his way, but his spider-senses still _weren’t_ activating. Before Peter could launch himself to the roof however, he heard a familiar voice take to the quiet room.

"Spidey!" he heard them cheer and large arms trapped him. Peter was no longer prepared to jump to the ceiling, but felt his muscles shift to a different kind of tenseness.

Deadpooltightenedhis hold on Peter, caging his arms beside him and lifting him a few inches from the floor, causing his sore muscles to contract in protest.

"Ow! Wade, wounded!" Peter choked out. Wade immediately let go, taking a step back and raising his arms.

"Oops, sorry! Thought you died." he said casually and placed his hands on his hips. "It's refreshing to see you  _not_ drenched in your own blood, you know, mere moments from shaking hands with death, great gal by the way." Peter scrunched his brows, but nodded in agreement, awkwardly rubbing his arm.

"I'd have to agree with that statement." Peter replied, rubbing at his previously dislocated arm.

"You clean up nice. Don’t look like you're half dead." Deadpool said cheerfully.

"My mental state begs to differ." Peter chuckled.

“Oh, do I know the feeling.” Peter frowned for a half second at that statement, but it was short lived as Peter heard another set of feet jogging toward the kitchen, looking over to see Clint panting as he entered.

"Deadpool." he greeted with a mock salute, crouching with his hand on his knee to support his body weight. Deadpool waved.

"Hey! You look exhausted. It's like you've been running around the tower chasing a mercenary. Consider retirement yet? I bet SHIELD’s got a helluva retirement program. " he continued, playfully. Clint didn't look mad, if anything amused.

"You're giving me the runaround, Wade." Clint panted, walking in while glancing between Peter and Wade with a sly glint in his eyes and a smirk playing at his lips. “Am I interrupting something?” Peter drew his brows together, looking over at Wade and – _whoa hello_ when did he get so close? Peter hadn’t realized the proximity in which the two were standing and promptly took a step back, only for Wade to tug him closer by his belt loops, staring directly at Clint who smirked and crossed his arms. Peter sighed, accepting his fate. All these years of dealing with Wade’s touchiness, he’s learned to just roll with it.

“Uh, yes, obviously. You scurry on out.” Wade says, emphasizing his point with a smooch to Peter’s forehead. In reciprocation, Peter punches him in the gut but immediately regrets it, hissing at the pain that shot through his still damaged wrist. There was a gasp, and suddenly Peter’s hand was being cradled in Wade’s.

“Baby boy, I’m sorry, let me kiss it better,” Peter squawked at him, shoving him away with a grin, but Wade persistently kept trying. Clint sat back, leaning against the wall, watching as Peter struggled away from Wade, who was determinedly trying to ‘kiss Peter’s wrist better’.

“What’s going on here?” All three men suddenly heard, and suddenly Wade went from being all up in Peter’s personal space, to being a good five feet away. Peter stood still, glancing back over to the doorway to see Natasha standing there, glaring daggers at Wade. Why don’t they just invite everyone to the kitchen? They only need three more guys here and they’ll have the whole crew. Dial up, party in the kitchen.

“It’s fine, Nat. Peter’s a big boy, he’s not the twelve-year-old we first met.” Clint reassured her. Peter groaned. Nat was unamused, as shown by her expression, quirking a judgmental brow. For all the time that Peter spent with Natasha, he could never decipher what was happening behind her stony façade.

“I was _sixteen_ when we first met, come _on_!” Peter protested. Clint chuckled while it became evident that Natasha relaxed her muscles just slightly, her gaze softening on all of them except Wade.

“Beside the point,” Natasha begins in a down to business tone. “You’re supposed to be speaking with Fury, not running around the tower.” She ordered Wade, who slumped in on himself.

“Ah, come on. I just made a little detour to say hi to my _favorite_ ,” He says, rolling his head to exaggeratedly look to Natasha, who quirked a brow at him. “Previously presumed _dead,_ arachnid.” Peter draws his brows together, looking back at Clint and Natasha.

“Nobody told him I was alive?” Peter asked, irritated but not surprise. Clint, seemingly not wanting to address this conversation, raised his hands in defeat.

“I had no part in that. Tony was the one procrastinating it.” Was all Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“To be fair, they did send me a letter (not a voicemail, text, email or any other convenient method of communication, but a letter) as soon as I left for a mission in Kentucky where I had to put some inbred hillbillies in their place. Let me tell you, the stereotypes about that place are not a far stretch from the truth. It was all pick-up trucks, confederate flags and people with eyes _way_ too far apart.” Peter felt his lips threatening to form a smile again.

“I’m from Kentucky.” Peter lied.

“You are the person version of a lotus flower.” Deadpool said in awe, like he was in the presence of royalty, placing his hands on both of Peter’s shoulders.

“You’re not from Kentucky.” Clint said, confused.

To which Peter responded, “I know,” followed by a gasp from Wade, who recoiled from Peter, deceived.

Peter was brought back to their current situation when he heard the impatient tapping of Natasha’s boots on the floor.

“Hurry it up you two. We do need to get Wade to Fury. He isn’t overly patient.” Clint reasoned.

“Would you say he’s Fury-ous?” wade said, nudging Peter who rolled his eyes and shifted an inch or so from Wade to escape the contact.

“Why does Fury want to see _you_?” Peter wondered out loud.

“Don’t be jealous. But to answer your question, beats me. I’m just a guy making an honest (I never said modest) living. But he’s probably going to invite me to join the boy-band.” Peter scoffed. That was a stretch and Peter highly doubted it. He still wondered though.

“ _Wade_.” Clint called. Deadpool sighed, looking up to the ceiling.

“Fine! I mostly came by to remind you that I haven’t forgotten about our date.” Wade reminded Peter, who was dumfounded in recollection.

“What?” Was all he could manage. Clint appeared as though he couldn’t be more entertained while Natasha looked like she was literally going to break.

“You know, the one we planned when you were bleeding half your body weight? Good times, right?” Wade recalled cheerfully. Before Peter could protest, Wade was walking out the door, waving. “I’d love to stay, but alas, you are a Capulet, and I am a Montague and your father (iron princess) forbids us! Adieu!” Wade called, slipping from the room, making a show of carefully sidestepping Natasha, who offered him an icy glare. Peter hadn’t realized the smile forming on his lips.

“What was that about?” Natasha demanded. Peter’s grin fell.

“What? Like he said, we arranged that when I was on the verge of death. My decision making skills were impaired.” Peter defended himself longwindedly, defending himself against Natasha because Clint seemed anything but upset, a shit-eating grin in place.  

Natasha sighed, annoyed, earning a scoff from Clint.

“Oh stop your huffing. You’re just upset because you were wrong.” Clint said in a childish tone, turning to Widow who rolled her eyes.

“Wrong about what?” Peter asked, raising his brows.

Natasha and Clint exchanged a knowing glance. It must be a spy thing. They could probably communicate through brain waves. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if they came up with a method of communication through the flicks of their eyes. Like Morse code for eyelids.

“Nothing, nothing! Don’t worry about it. Me and Nat have to make sure Deadpool finds his way to Fury. You make sure that coffee gets to the nerds.” Clint said, dismissing himself from the sleek, white kitchen along with Natasha, who elbowed him in the side on the way out, earning a chuckle from Clint.

Peter watched as the two slipped out, leaving him confused. He couldn’t begin to fathom why Fury wanted Deadpool of all people. It wasn’t to join the boy band- er, Avengers. They’d already questioned him very thoroughly since Nat and Clint never did a job anything but thorough. Before Peter could ask, the spies were already absent, leaving behind a confused coffee runner. Peter leaned against the counter, brows still drawn together in confusion before he finally shrugged it off, murmuring “Assholes.”

A few minutes later, Peter had both coffees in hand, heading back to the lab where Tony and Bruce were both hovering over the hologram displaying a microscopic view of the parasite.

"What are we looking at?" Peter asked, wedging his way between the two men, who, as if on instinct upon sensing the coffee, ardently reached for the mugs and plucked them from Peter's hands, Tony more hesitantly than Bruce because he had that whole thing where he doesn’t like to directly take things from People.

"This parasite is extremely complex." Bruce explained, sipping on his coffee. "And extremely powerful, but it wasn't designed to kill you immediately.".

"What do you mean? I definitely felt like I was dying. Not that I'd know, though." Peter muttered.

"Are you ever not sassy?" Tony asked. Peter's face contorted into offense.

“I prefer to call it witty, but yeah, no. It’s the only language I know." Peter quipped. Bruce shot a glance at both of them before continuing with his previous statement.

"The parasite was meant to let off and and fire again. In other words, it was supposed to bring you to the brink of death, only to die off and let your body revive before sending another wave to attack your blood cells again." Peter paled, staring at he the screen where a visual representation was offered.

"So they wanted me to die slowly?" he asked. Bruce nodded.

"Who did you piss off?" Tony said, temporarily distracting Peter from his concerning thoughts.

"For real." Peter mused, sighing. Sure, he had enemies, but not like this. He'd never had an enemy who went to extremes such as these. One who could no less successfully manage to stunt his spider-sense. It was beyond concerning.

“Hey, how _did_ you guys counter it though?” Peter asked curiously. Tony tensed beside him and made a disgruntled sound. Peter drew his brows together and looked to Bruce for an answer instead.

“Well, actually, we used a sample of Deadpool’s blood.” Bruce explained. Peter raised his brows, surprised. As if being able to sense Peter’s curiosity, he offered a smile and continued. “See, because of his healing factor and essentially immortality, the sample was thriving with extremely effective repair cells. Ten times more effective than your own.”

“So, the cells naturally continued their role in my own body and fought off the parasite?” Peter simplified for Bruce, who nodded.

“More or less, we had to tweak it some, modified it best we could to amplify it before we ran out of time.” Bruce explained. “But essentially, that’s what it did, luckily.” There’s was a hint of anxiousness at the conclusion of his explanation. He wondered just how close he came to dying. Nobody really wanted to talk to him about it, and after looking death in the face, he didn’t exactly feel like having a conversation about it either.

“And you guys just so happened to conveniently have a sample of Wade’s blood at hand?” Peter asked inquisitively, teasing mostly.

“We just so happen to have a lot of things conveniently at hand.” Tony quipped with a roll of his eyes, taking down the screen on display. Peter wondered if it was because he didn’t like being reminded of what happened.

"Why is Wade here, by the way?" Peter remembered suddenly. Tony froze, hand hovering over the holographic screen idly as his eyes went big.

"God damn it,  _already_?” Tony complained, putting his coffee down on a nearby table rather aggressively. Peter’s eyes grew curious, looking at his boss questioningly. Tony, seeming to ignore the younger man’s expression or just having not realized it, turned away and headed off toward the exit, leaving Peter, once again, confused. This feeling was beginning to feel all too normal to him and he didn’t like it. He shot Bruce a pleading glance, but all Bruce offered was a sheepish shrug.

“Sorry Peter. I can’t offer much.” He claimed, apologetically. Peter rolled his eyes, not necessarily at Bruce because he hadn’t done anything, but at all of this. It felt as if recently everyone had been fairly secretive towards Peter.

“Of course you can’t.” he sighed, moving back over to the screen where he analyzed the bullet remnants- now a small, rapidly spreading parasite. Peter was still fascinated by it in a twisted, terrified way because that nasty little thing was inside him.

“You know everybody here just cares about you a great deal, Peter. I know, it gets annoying with everyone breathing down your neck since the incident and then stepping away when you want them to cough up some answers, but it’s all with good intentions.” Peter bit the inside of his cheek. The Avengers as a whole were like one big helicopter mom.

“So then, I’m not being paranoid and everyone around here _is_ keeping stuff from me?” Peter asked, grinning at the realization that flashed across Bruce’s face, having noticed he said something he shouldn’t have.

“Did you plan that?” Bruce accused, nudging the shorter man. Peter chuckled.

“No, you’re just losing your game.” Peter teased as he hopped up to sit on a ledge. “You should start playing cross-word puzzles. I hear they’re good for keeping old men’s hippocampus from turning into mush. Blue berries too. You want me to bring you blueberries? Aunt May taught me how to make some _really_ good blueberry pie.” Bruce chuckled, shaking his head.

“Watch it, or I’ll turn green.” Bruce warned facetiously.

“Nah, you’d never. I’m your favorite assistant.” Peter played, watching as Bruce tampered with the screen in front of them, flicking into a different page where all of the chemical compounds of the bullet were listed. Peter was impressed with how complex these chemical compounds were, and mortified because somebody went through the trouble of engineering a weapon so intricate solely to kill him.

“You’re my only assistant.” Bruce muttered. Peter grinned.

“There’s a reason for that.” Peter shot back, earning a huff of a laugh from Banner.

“Wise ass.” He said. Peter perked up smugly.

“I’m flattered.” He smirked triumphantly, Banner smiling in return with a disapproving shake of his head.

A comfortable silence fell over them as Peter watched Bruce tinker with the screen in front of them. It was hard to even fathom someone trying to kill him. That’s not to imply that he had no enemies, frankly he had a plethora. The thing is that he couldn’t recall a single villain who would attack him like _this._ None fit the criteria of this specific enemy. This enemy was hiring other assailants to kill him and even going so far as to engineer deadly chemical artillery. These were entirely new tactics that were foreign to Peter. Dangerous at that, because Peter didn’t know who or what he was up against. He was pulled into the dark and all he could do was grasp around in the for some sort of lead.

“Mr. Parker.” The sound of Jarvis’ automated voice called from above. Peter was yanked from his thoughts, settling back into reality.

“Jarvis.” He called back. Peter couldn’t help the way he always addressed the AI like he (- _it…_ he?) was a person, but it was hard not to when it was so extraordinarily _human_. He even secretly developed a mental image of what the AI would look like as a person; something like Paul Bettany.

“Master Stark requires your presence in the conference room. It is desired that you join them immediately.” Jarvis informed.

Looking to Bruce, Peter’s face contorted into confusion. Bruce could only offer a shake of his head.

“Beats me, Peter. You better go, though.” The man suggested with a shrug of reassurance.

“What for?” Peter inquired Jarvis, not because he was suspicious, but because he likes to know what he’s walking into so he can properly prepare himself. Being in a conference room with Avengers, Fury no less, sounds like something in itself that he’d have to prepare for.

“I was neglected information regarding that, sir.” Jarvis supplied, uselessly. Peter sighed as Bruce offered him a sympathetic smile.

“It’ll be fine.” He reassured. Peter mustered a counterfeit confident smile before walking away, heading towards the conference room.

These past two weeks have been some of the longest in Peter’s life. Of course, he’d been through much worse. This was a scratch compared to the gaping holes left in the wake of all the people he’d lost. Uncle Ben… Gwen…. Harry. Those were the worst.

He could get through this. He knew that.

However, when Peter walked into the conference room, he was greeted with the image of the distressed faces of four Avengers (Widow, Hawkeye, Steve and Tony) and the stony face of Fury, all of whom looked at Peter with a common seriousness he didn’t like. Peter has a feeling there was going to be more talking for him and not _to_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uneventful chapter, but the next one is going to have all the spideypool ! 8D  
> I'm really good at cliffhangers. >8 )


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me just say that I'm sosososososososososo sorry for how late this is. Writer's block has hit me hard and I couldn't get into writing for a while because words just weren't working in my favor. They still kind of aren't but I'm going to finish it, swear. 
> 
> I should warn you guys, there's mentions of past canon molestation, but nothing in detail or anything.

“ _This is for your own good, Peter.”_ Peter remembered hearing. He couldn’t remember who said it, but the words rang in his ear as he swung from the rooftops, landing smoothly atop one. Peter rolled his eyes as he recalled the conversation. It happened a few days ago, but Peter was still irked every time he recalled it.

In short, Peter was informed, on that retched day that he was called in to conference with the Avengers and Fury, that if he wanted to go on his regular patrols, he needed to have someone with him. For the briefest second Peter was that they were going to pair him with one of the Avengers. The very thought was thrilling, but upon further mental reasoning, that thought died. As evident by everyone’s less than pleased expressions, Peter knew that wasn’t it. The Avengers were far too busy to help Peter with his trivial patrol rounds. They had much bigger fish to fry. While Peter was out retrieving stolen old ladies’ purses from thieves, the Avengers were protecting the Federal Reserve from presumed threats. Bigger problems.

And so, came the doomed moment when they would inform him that he’d be being babysat by none other than Deadpool. Not in those words of course, they called it something like having an extra set of eyes.

“ _It’s only until we find and stop whoever is trying to assassinate you.”_ He remembered hearing. Yes, technically he could simply not patrol until then, but… Peter couldn’t do that because so far they had no idea when exactly that could be- days, weeks, months. He already had far too much guilt settling inside him. What if someone _needed_ him? Needless to say, he hadn’t watched the news lately. He couldn’t, scared that he’d hear that crime had increased in his wake, or that there had been some brutal accident that he could have prevented while he was out sick.

Deadpool agreed to partnering up with him in the previous conference, but he hadn’t been in the room when they discussed it with Peter. When Peter asked where he went, they simply told him that he left. He was likely told to leave for lack of argument. Not that he really thought that the other man had any qualms with working alongside Spider-Man. Peter had already prepared himself for the onslaught of ass-compliments and fangirling that was sure to come on Deadpool’s behalf.

It wasn’t so much that Peter was annoyed about having to work with Wade, even though that was partially it, with the very valid point that Wade _killed_ people! It was also the fact that they made this decision _for_ him as well. He knew it was childish to be bitter towards them for it. After all, they were only doing this out of his own wellbeing. But it still peeved him, having people tell him, a twenty-four-year-old man, how to do things. He felt insulted that they didn’t trust him to make that decision himself, like they expected him to carelessly roam around as Spider-Man… though, granted, he probably was going to go on patrol soon, but he was going to be careful!

Rubbing the back of his neck both out of anxiousness and annoyance, Peter perched himself on the ledge of the building, kneeling down to look over the edge. Deadpool was supposed to have already been there. This was the meeting place they’d arranged: the rooftop on which they’d bumped into each other on multiple occasions, or the one Deadpool seemed to know more as the one overlooking his favorite taco joint.

It was no surprise he’d be late. This was Deadpool, titleholder of untimeliness. Of all times to be late, it was when he actually needed him present. Peter was certain Deadpool was breaking some set of rules laid out for him.

“Okay, so here’s the plan!” Peter heard from behind. He didn’t bother turning around because he recognized the voice. It was about time.

“What plan? We’re just patrolling.” Peter mused.

“Not for that!” Deadpool dismissed, waving a hand as he sat beside Spider-Man. “For the _date._ ” Peter quirked a brow beneath the mask.

“So I thought, after patrol would probably be better right? Because we’ll probably both be hungry after patrolling _and_ happy hour doesn’t start until eight, so we’ve got a couple hours to kill.” Peter blinked, watching in silence as Wade rambled.

“You’re really set on that date.” Peter stated, rather than asked. The other man exaggeratedly whipped his head in Peter’s direction.

“Um, yes? Who wouldn’t be? Spider-Man asked me out on a date- now I know it was technically indirect, but I’m taking what I can get.” Peter sighed, looking over to the taco joint Wade had previously been talking about.

“But I mean,” he heard Wade continue. “If you really don’t want to,” Perked glanced over at him, feeling his gut twist because he didn’t like that voice. It sounded like normal Deadpool (as normal as Deadpool can be) but there was the slightest hint of disappointment in it that Peter hated because it was so unlike Deadpool. Something about seeing the usually unnervingly perky man anything but that.

“No. I said I would. Just… maybe not after patrol.” Peter suggested. Wade nodded enthusiastically.

“But might I just say that I think it is extremely rude to keep a lass waiting.” Peter sighed through his nose. He felt relieved. He wasn’t sure he could deal with going on a “date” with Wade after everything that had happened in the past two weeks. Patrol was going to be exhausting enough with Wade, never mind a date afterward.

“If you really don’t want to though,” Wade continued, and Peter jerked his head in Wade’s direction, frowning unintentionally at the tinge of hurt he heard in the overall careless tone.

“No.” he said, a little too fast and cringed. Wade turned to him, swinging his legs childishly over the edge of the building. Peter sighed again. “I mean, I told you I should have given you a chance and I’m not going back on that.” Peter rephrased, nodding at his reasoning. That sounded right.

“Well!” Wade said, cheerfully, standing up. “You do your thing. I’ll just meander on behind you. Promise not to un-alive anyone. Scout’s honor. Plus I made a deal with the A-team to not do that. Can you believe they gave me their number? I mean, it’s an emergency number just in case shit happens, but still. How many people can say they have Tony Stark’s number.” The taller man gloated.

“I can.” Peter responded, smirk in place. Deadpool sputtered.

“Well you don’t count because you’re his child.” he argued in return, a hand on his hip. Peter rolled his eyes.

“You don’t count.” Peter murmured. Technically, the only reason he had the number was because he was playing babysitter.

“I can to ten!” Wade shot back, and Peter went to retort, but found his mouth hanging open uselessly. Eventually he snapped his mouth closed and sighed through his nose.

“Alright.” He said, simply. “I have stuff to do, but before then, I have ground rules.” Peter began, prepared to begin listing off all the things Wade could not do. Wade, however, began waving his hands dismissively.

“I know, pumpkin, you don’t have to tell me. No killing or maiming people. I got it. I already went through this with the Avengers.” Peter paused. He felt like getting Deadpool to agree to this was going to be like pulling teeth.

“And you have no quarrels with that?” Peter asked, suspiciously. Wade shrugged.

“Not unless you do. Just say the word, I won’t tell if you don’t.” Peter shook his head fervently.

“No! No, it’s fine. This is… great.” Peter said, rubbing the back on his neck before awkwardly jerking a thumb off to the side. “We should… probably get a move on.” Peter suggested. Wade nodded.

“Yeah. I’ll just try to keep up with you. No problem. I mean, it’s not like it’s stressful keeping up with your or anything. I’ll be fine.” Wade said, looking down and nudging rubble with the toe of his boot. Peter looked up and sighed in defeat.

“Come here.” He said reluctantly. Wade perked up and practically skipped over to the younger man, cheering happily as he air-fisted.

“How are we gonna do this?” He asked. “We can go bridal, Howl’s-Moving-Castle-style, you name it!” Wade cheered. Spider-Man rolled his eyes.

“Just hang onto my shoulders. But don’t choke me!” He warned. Wade did so, happily, swinging his arms around Peter’s neck

“No, I would never. We’d need to establish a safe-word before something like that. Or since you’d be choking, probably a hand signal. We’ll figure it out later. Now, onward my trusty steed!” Wade demanded. Spider-Man chuckled lightly, elbowing Deadpool in the gut before taking off, Wade clinging to his back.

 

* * *

 

So, patrol didn’t end badly. In fact, things went pretty smooth. Deadpool behaved himself, and only pulled a gun out once to threaten a guy, but never shot. Peter felt, in a weird way, _proud_. They even had _fun._ Wade kept up with his banter so well. Sure, it was fun by himself, irking bad guys with his horrible humor, but when Wade was right there with him, delivering onslaughts of teasing as if on queue, it was even _better_. Spider-Man accidentally laughed several times.

Not to mention Spider-Man was getting things done at a remarkably faster pace with an extra hand working alongside him. It was refreshing: having somebody with him who had his back. By the end of it all, both men found themselves sitting on the edge of the usual building, overlooking the taco joint.

“You know Spidey, we make a pretty good team. I mean, I think things would be _way_ more efficient with at least _one_ gun- no vital blows though, promise! Just things like the arm, or foot or-“

“No blows at all!” Peter said sternly, running a hand through his messy hair. He has taken his mask off in favor of feeling the cool night air against his sweaty face. It's not like Wade didn't already know who he was, anyway. No use in hiding his identity now.

“Darn.” Deadpool said in a deep chest voice, suggestively, nudging Spider-Man, who swatted at him in feigned annoyance. He might have grinned a little.

“For real though, Wade… Thanks, for, you know. Not killing anyone, or hurting anyone vitally. I appreciate it.” Peter said, sincerely.

Deadpool was uncharacteristically silent, causing Peter to look over at him curiously, only to find him looking down over the edge of the building. It was unsettling, and at first, peter had thought that maybe he struck a nerve in the older man. Normally he had a response on impulse.

“Yeah… well, you know. Scout’s honor and all.” He finally replied, kicking his feet slightly over the edge. Peter dared to think it was out of nervousness.

With that, followed more silence. Peter looked to Deadpool, his lack of word vomit being both concerning and amazing. Was this Deadpool in the midst of deep thought? Peter could only imagine what was going through his head. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to, considering the man had been to hell and back, looked death in the face multiple times- literally.

“We could totally get some tacos right now.” Wade said, shattering the silence. Peter had then realized Deadpool looking right at him, and he wondered if he had knows he was staring that whole time and felt a mind flash of embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck.

“As great as free food sounds…” Peter said regretfully, mourning going back home to make a disappointing bowl of ramen, or something equally as dissatisfying. “I have to go back home.” He said, truthfully. He couldn’t risk staying out much longer. He still had school work to catch up on, and he did have classes to go to the following day. Not to mention work shortly after.

“Right right, college-lad-duties. Well, that’s unfortunate. They’ve got incredible chimichangas.” Peter groaned in annoyance.

“Stop rubbing it in. Like I’m totally enthralled about eating SpaghettiOs for dinner.” He complained sarcastically. Wade shook his head and clicked his tongue is teasing sympathy.

“Too bad, baby boy.” Peter’s face wrinkled at the name.

“You need to stop calling me that.” Peter said, but was seemingly ignored when Deadpool continued to talk.

“Well, I know you are going to _totally_ be against this, but Iron Daddy told me to treat you nice, and I’m pretty sure that entails walking you to your spider nest to make sure you get there safe and sound.” Peter make another disgruntled face.

“Oh god, don’t call him that.” Peter quickly said, the second half of Deadpool’s comment having a delayed settling in his mind. “Wait, what? No, I can walk back myself.” He said promptly. Deadpool held up a finger and shook it.

“Ah-ah! No. Part of me getting paid for this job is that you don’t get hurt. If you so much as get a scratch on that pretty little face, I’m in trouble.” Wade justified.

Peter forgot for a while that Deadpool was being Paid to do this. Of course he was, why else would he be doing this? It’s Deadpool.

Even so, that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest smidgen of disappointment buried deep in, ride underneath his denial.

“So, that being said,” The other man continued, beginning to climb down the building. Peter watched with amusement. “Let me be a gentleman, and walk you home.” Peter heaved a sigh, watching the other man slowly maneuver himself down the building.

“You can walk me majority of the way, but not completely. I’d like to have _some_ secrets left to myself.” Peter said firmly. Wade made a discontented sound.

“But… what if someone gets you when I’m not there?” Deadpool theorized. Peter wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but there was obvious concern slipping into the tone of the older man. Peter drew his brows together, looking away.

No. He couldn’t let Wade walk him all the way home! He had some things he wanted to keep to himself, and frankly, this is one of them. But with wade sounding so worried, like he was actually afraid someone would manage to hurt him within the short travel to his apartment.

“What if I text you? When I get home?” Peter suggested, caving to the other man’s concern. Deadpool seemed to immediately perk.

“Deal!” he agreed, all too fast. Peter grinned, slipping out his phone and handing it to Wade, who gladly accepted it, punching in his own number before promptly handing it back. “Okay, getting Iron Man’s number was one thing, but now Spidey! Wooh! And it’s not even my birthday!” He squealed. “Do I get permission to go trigger-happy if you don’t respond?” Deadpool asked.

“No!” Peter said immediately, eyes widening. “If I don’t answer, which I will, you have permission to find me, raid my apartment and beat up the assailant. No killing.” Peter demanded. From the shifting of the mask, Peter could tell that Wade was rolling his eyes.

“Fine.” He murmured, childishly. Deadpool soon pulled out his own phone to do what Peter assumed was putting Peter’s number in as a contact after he texted his cell phone from Peter’s.

“Alright, seriously, I have to go.” Peter reminded, standing up.

“Right, right!” Deadpool said as he jumped to his feet. “Am I piggy-backing? Please tell me I am. Unless you want to do bridal- I’m so down with that. You know, you’d think Stark would have manufactured some nifty, web-slinging device for me to keep up with you. For a genius, he’s pretty dull.” Peter agreed wholeheartedly. Not that he was entirely opposed to carrying Wade around. It’d just be easier if Wade had his own, efficient method of travel.

“Come on,” he sighed, motioning for Wade to come over and hop onto his back as Wade Cheered and skipped over, swinging his arms around Peter’s neck. Peter ignored the tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Onward my trusty steed!... er- spider?” Deadpool said, conflicted as he pointed cinematically up at the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

_Peter: so, I’m alive_

_Wade: I knew you’d text! <3<3<3 Anywhore, get those tired, college-boy limbs in bed young man bc u have school tomorrow and it is far past your bedtime!_

_Peter: That was the plan…_

_Wade: Don’t you … me young man_

_Peter: …_

_Wade: okay first of all rude. Second of all rude. Third of all it is late af and you have ejumacation to attend to tomorrow_

_Peter: you only play babysitter when we're on patrol wade, what’s one less hour of sleep in my already butchered sleeping schedule_

_Wade: i take my job VERY seriously spidey but i'm flattered  u wanna talk to me_

_Peter: on second thought, good night_

_Wade: you’re really bad at sexting schnookums_

_Peter: I was trying so hard_

_Wade: could have fooled me_

_Peter: sorry my sexting skills aren’t phenomenal_

_Wade: I could help you practice ;)_

_Peter: okay I’m officially going to bed_

_Wade: and then what ;)_

_Peter: goodnight wade_

_Wade: no fun ): <_

Peter looked down at his phone, acknowledging how he’d called him Wade. Again.

He tried not to think of any potential significance behind it, and was mostly successful.

_Wade: buenas noches & sweet dreams spideypoo <3<3<3 don’t let the spiders bite! Or do?? Idk_

Peter sighed, much like he always did in response to Deadpool’s mannerisms.

Except, recently, Peter had begun to realize it wasn’t out of genuine annoyance or enervation, but instead of pondering for too long, letting his brain wander into dangerous territory, Peter let himself settle into his bed, shutting his eyes.

None of these thoughts. Maybe another time when he was capable of dissecting his own feelings and thoughts, but not now. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Peter, love, are you listening to me?” May called, earning Peters attention, which had previously petered in favor of thinking about his life as Spider-Man.

“Yeah, definitely. Margaret sounds like a real pain. Someone who’d claim they made the casserole when they really just bought it pre-made.” Peter responded on a whim. Aunt May sighed, rolling her eyes with a small grin on her face before she pulled out a seat at the table, across from Peter.

“Alright, what is it?” She asked. Peter raised his brows and shrugged.

“Just, you know. Work. Everything. It’s just,” Peter inhaled deeply and exhaled. “Stressed.” Peter explained, which in truth, wasn’t exactly a lie.

“What about work?” May asked, standing back up to stir the noodles for the to-die-for, homemade spaghetti she was making. “What’s makes it different from the usual stress?” she asked. Curse her and her ungodly abilities to sense when Peter wasn’t doing well.

“Uh,” Peter thought out loud. “New colleague.” Peter finally managed. “He’s supposed to be helping me out, but he doesn’t really know the ropes, so it feels the other way around.” Peter vented. Aunt May nodded from her standpoint before the stove. Peter could already feel the tension lifting his body. Even though he’d never admit directly what was bothering him to aunt May, it always helped to vent indirectly about the subject.

“Hm. Sounds worse than Margaret.” Aunt May chuckled.

“No way.” Peter gossiped back, tilting back in his chair. “Margaret is way worse. Wade would admit to buying pre-made casserole.” The older woman smiled.

“So, Wade’s his name then?” Peter nodded, seeing no harm in mentioning names.

“Yeah.” Peter admitted, tilting back in his chair to alleviate some of the spontaneous nervousness that sprouted within him. It wasn’t about telling aunt May Wade’s name, that was irrational. After all, there had to be a thousands of Wade’s in New York and it wasn’t like they were ever going to meet. Or at least Peter hoped there’d never be any circumstances under which they would.

“Hm. Did he have anything to do with you getting injured a week ago?” Peter shook his head quickly, sensing the threatening undertone in his aunt’s voice.

“No, no!” Peter was quick to object. “If anything he helped me out.” Peter corrected. So, he might have told his aunt about there being a lab accident. He didn't really  _mean to_ but on occasion, his university sent mail to May's address instead of his and when they received a letter notifying them about Peter's accident from Stark Industries, the university felt the need to send one to Peter, apologizing and informing him that he'd have plenty of time to make up work. Perk of working for one of the most prestigious men in the world was just things like this. He had a feeling his deadlines would be much stricter had his university received a letter from a fast food chain. 

Anyway, instead of sending Peter's mail to his own address, it wound up with his Aunt. She was mad at first for Peter not telling her, but Peter reassured her he was going to, even if he wasn't actually going to. It was a lie on top of lie on top of another lie. 

“I see.” She said and she brought the noodles over to the sink to strain them. “What brings him to Stark Industries? This new colleague of yours.” She inquired.

“He just, kind of switches between companies every now and then. You know, wide spectrum of things he’s good at. Can’t really be tied down to one field.” Peter explained, truthfully.

“Sounds like quite the wildcard.” May admitted. Peter shrugged.

“That’s putting it lightly.” He muttered before aunt May placed a plate before him, feeling a hand whack at the back of his head. Peter whined and gave an incredulous look to his aunt, rubbing the assaulted area.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to tilt back in chairs like that? You’re going to bite your tongue off one day, or worse; Ruin my chair!” She chastised, mostly teasing. Peter rolled his eyes fondly before placing the chair on all fours.

“Always nice to know you care, May.” He sighed. The woman gave a sly grin.

“Please, this table set costs more than your shoe box of an apartment.” She teased. Peter smiled.

He had been long since due for a visit to his aunt. Sometimes it was hard to visit her. Sometimes he was scared that he’d find her disappointed that it took him so long to visit again. Facing her after being away from just a week made him feel disappointed in himself for leaving her alone, but he never regretted his visits. If his aunt was upset at him, she never showed it. Peter was grateful for that.

They ate, spoke, reminisced. And in moments like these: sat down with aunt May for dinner, he liked being just, simply Peter the most. All his troubles as Spider-Man seemed non-existent in those simple, provisional moments.

 

* * *

 

“Can’t I have just _one_ gun?” Wade whined to Peter, who was currently occupied with taking down six armed assailants.

“No!” Spider-Man snapped back as he disarmed one man, webbing his gun to the brick wall right after two shots had been unsuccessfully fired and agilely dodged.

“But _he_ has a gun!” Deadpool pouted immaturely as he knocked the disarmed man out with a whack to the back of the head. Maybe with what Peter thought might have been a tad too much aggression. Peter tried not to think it was because the man at aimed and fired at the younger hero. If it _was_ that, it was because Wade didn’t get paid if Peter got hurt badly.

“That’s kind of exactly why we’re beating these guys up, Deadpool.” Spider-Man reminded. Deadpool perked in realization as Peter webbed a man approaching Wade.

“Oh yeah.” Wade mused thoughtfully as he knocked out another man, moments from attacking Spider-Man who had been distracted while webbing the previous man to a wall.

Peter twisted around as a familiar tingly sensation made his shoulders tense, turning just in time to jump out of way of a stream of bullets. Several were fired, but none hit Peter as he skittered about the brick walls, thankfully. Neutralizing the man couldn’t be easier as webbed the man’s eyes, successfully rendering his vision useless. As the man struggled to remove the substance from over his eyes, Wade made a quick move of whacking the man’s neck, causing him to lose consciousness and fall limp to the ground.

Letting out a whistle, Peter leapt before Wade, looking at the men who lay sprawled, unconscious on the murky cement.

“That was fast.” Peter said. “Not that I couldn’t have been just as fast alone.” He added quickly, smirking beneath his mask.

“You know,” Wade drawled, moving to lean against the wall, but failed, flailing a bit before moving closer to make another successful attempt. Peter looked unimpressed, but humored the other man. “It would have been a lot faster if we both had-“

“No, Deadpool. No guns- or any other detrimental weapons, for that matter.” Peter interrupted, sounding exhausted to be addressing the topic _again_.

“I was going to say nifty little web slingers, but that too.” Wade claimed with a nod.

“If we both had web slingers, I’d have even more people mistaking you for me, which is already a big enough problem. People see red spandex and they assume it’s Spider-Man. Remember that next time you run around looking like you wreaked havoc somewhere.” Spider-Man complained. Deadpool waved off his comments.

“Okay, fine. That just means you get to keep swinging me around. Not that I mind, but I’d prefer bridal style every now and then if this is going to be our official method of travel.” Wade complained, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

“Oh I’m sorry would you rather run on foot?” Peter asked, teasingly. Deadpool sputtered for words.

“Oh, I do not like how you’ve been stepping up your sass game.” Deadpool complained, pointing an accusing finger at Spider-Man. Behind his mask, Peter raised his brows innocently. “I liked being the only one using tactful sass that leaves everyone in the dust.” Peter laughed.

“Join the club: population two.” He replied cheekily. Wade scoffed.

“Pff, considering every super hero is written with snarky-ness into their bio, the population is a lot bigger than that.” Deadpool reasoned, causing Peter to narrow his brows in confusion. It was short lasted however, as Deadpool and his lack of sense wasn’t anything new and Peter had long since learned to just not think about it.

“Hey, did you hear that?” Peter asked, suddenly, perking his head up in the direction of the sound. Deadpool straightened his posture, turning his head in the same direction as Spider-Man.

“Hear wha-“

“Sh!” Peter hissed.

“You just asked me a-“

“ _SH!”_ Deadpool threw his hands up exaggeratedly.

Spider-Man stood still, listening to confirm his suspicions. Deadpool stood by, wanting to tap his foot to emphasize his not appreciating being ignored.

Finally, Peter head it again though barely. Deadpool seemed to hear it too from the subtle jerk of his head in the direction.

It was a cry from what sounded like a child, a distressed one. That was all Peter could make out.

“C’mon.” Peter whispered. Deadpool listened without trouble, hanging on to the other’s shoulders. Luckily it wasn’t far away, only a few allies over at most. Peter and Wade landed atop a low building, peering over the edge.

Down below was an unnerving sight: a man, violently tugging along a young boy behind him, demanding in a rough whisper for the boy to stop trying to get away.

“I told you, it’s not this way! Where are you taking me?” the boy wined. Peter felt his hands clench at his side.

“Don’t worry, you’re fine! Quit wining!” The man said fanatically, tugging the boy’s wrist which the older man had in a vice. Peter felt his stomach turn at the familiar sight.

Before much more could happen, Peter was swinging towards the two, making quick action to kick the older man in the face, who promptly fell unconscious. Peter didn’t bother to check his pulse in the moment. He didn’t care much since he knew the man wasn’t dead.

The boy stumbled back, flabbergasted at the spontaneous appearance of the superhero. Deadpool appeared to be on his toes, but Peter had taken care of the problem before Deadpool could do anything to help. Peter was tense, so much to the point where Deadpool could probably tell. At least they got there before anything had happened to the boy. Peter had his suspicious as to what the man was up to, but was glad it was only a suspicion.

“Woah,” He heard the child say in awe, looking between the two heroes. “You’re real!” They whispered, enchanted as they drew their hands up to cover the grin on their face. Their gaze flicked between the two men. At closer range, Peter saw that the boy might not actually be a boy. Round rosy cheeks, long lashes, a bowl-cut framing her face. But then, Peter remembered that he wasn’t exactly the most masculine boy growing.

“Do you know who _I_ am?” Deadpool asked, leaning against a wall in an attempt to look cool.

“Let’s hope they don’t.” Spider-Man responded on impulse.

“I wasn’t talking to you, pumpkin.” Deadpool replied, jutting his head out sassily with a raised finger. The child giggled.

“Uh… a cooler Spider-Man?” The kid asked in such a genuine and innocent way that Peter couldn’t even be offended. His shoulders did slump though.

“You _bet_ I am.” Deadpool gloated, flexing both his arms. Peter glared at him. “Except I lost my web-shooting privileges.” He said, sadly, holding out his bare wrists.

“You never had that privilege.” Peter muttered.

“Don’t be salty, Spidey.” Deadpool teased.

“I’m not-“ Peter raised his voice before remembering the child and soothed himself with a drawn out breath. “I’m not being salty.” He continued in a more composed manner.

A high pitched giggle brought both their attention back to the child.

“You guys are funny.” They said, amused.

“Grab some popcorn, Kiddo. The show is on all night.” Deadpool joked, playfully, earning more giggles. “Someone appreciates my humor.” Deadpool said as he approached the child. “What’s your name kid?” The mercenary asked.

Peter, though he did not appreciate the ridicule he was receiving, was thankful that Wade was taking the reigns. He felt mild anxiety bubbling within him at the scene from earlier and didn’t trust his words or voice.

“Ellie.” She said in a much more perky manor than Peter would expect of a girl who was being previously abducted.

“Ellie, huh?” Deadpool verified, crouching down to be eye level with the girl. “Well, Ellie, we’re gonna make sure you get home safe and sound, alright? Where do you live, kid?” The girl hesitated a moment, looking between both the men.

“Uh, I live in New York’s local orphanage…” She said quietly. Peter looked over, intrigued. What was she doing this far away from the orphanage?

“Alright, Ellie, no problem. We’ll have you back in a jiffy.” Deadpool reassured, hoisting the girl up to sit her on his shoulders and she laughed some more. Peter felt oddly charmed by the gesture. Who knew Deadpool would be good with kids?

“Alright, Spidey, let’s go!” Wade called, marching off in the opposite direction with Ellie smiling happily on his shoulders.

“It’d be quicker to take the other way.” Spider-Man called.

“And miss out on quality time with Ellie? I don’t _think_ so!” Wade called back. Peter sighed, but felt a smile tugging at his lips as he followed behind the pair.

Turns out, Ellie ran away from the orphanage that evening out of spite of the councilors. Apparently another little boy had put gum in her hair so they had to cut it short, and they let him off the hook. She complained and sympathized with wade the whole walk about how everyone else seems to slip by punishment but when it’s her, she’s put under a microscope.

Peter wanted to mention that it was different with Wade because of his job and habits, but refrained, lest he destroy the moment.

Words seemed to be escaping his mind, in any case.

Give Peter armed assailants and murderers any day, but molesters in general always left a bitter taste in his mouth, always reopened closed wounds, making old memories feel fresh again.

Though Peter tried desperately to forget every affiliation he had with Skip Westcott, whenever could, things like this resurfaced it. He'd gone to therapy after he told aunt May and uncle Ben, and it helped. But moments like these resurface it.

Luckily for Peter, he had a distraction. Wade's mouth was moving a mile a minute, spewing nothing but nonsense. For once- no scratch that- for Like, the tenth time this week, Peter was thankful for that. Peter wondered if that's what Wade's actual intentions were. Come to think of it, Wade hadn't been talking this much before they found Ellie. Peter thought that maybe Wade was doing for her what he was unintentionally doing for Peter- taking his mind off of it. Peter let himself think, from deep in the recesses of his mind, of how sweet that was.

"Right Spidey?" Peter flicked his previously inattentive eyes up ahead to Wade, who had his upper torso twisted around so he could look at Spider-Man. Waiting a moment before responding, Peter replied uncertainly.

"Sure?" he said uncertainty. Ellie giggled as Wade fisted the air.

"Told ya so!" he said, giddily. Peter, though he was uncertain as to what he had just agreed to, found himself smiling anyway.

The whole walk was spent with Ellie and Wade talking. Occasionally one of them would draw in Peter, asking a question or opinion until they finally stood outside the orphanage doors.

“Alright, here we are kiddo!” Deadpool said, cheerfully. Ellie looked down and away, seeming anything but happy to be back.

“Yeah…” She muttered as she was lifted and placed on the ground.

“Hey, chin up! I bet everyone in there is extremely worried about you.” Deadpool reassured. Ellie sighed.

“I guess so…” She mumbled.

“You guess so? Well I _know_ so.” Wade said, confidently. Peter smiled.

“He’s right.” Peter agreed, walking over to the girl, and crouching down to be eye level with her. “Trust me. There’s a bunch of people in there, worried sick about you. And next time you get mad at everyone, try not running away. It’s dangerous out there. Talk to someone instead.” He suggested.

“But they never listen!” She complained, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.

“Trust me, after this, they definitely will.” He reassured, patting Ellie’s shoulder reassuringly, who offered a small smile.

With that, Spider-Man stood up. Ellie sighed and began mounting the short steps to the entrance when Deadpool suddenly began messing with his belt.

“Wait, wait, wait! Before you go! Take these!” He said, holding out two key chains, both chibi versions of Spider-Man and Deadpool. Spider-Man raised a incredulous brow, grinning.

Ellie stepped forward, holding her hands out so Wade could drop them into her palms, a grin lacking two teeth stretching over her face.

“Really?” She asked, face beaming.

“Yeah, don’t worry about,” he said, leaning in close to whisper loudly, “I have plenty more where that came from- oh! but keep an eye on little me! My merch is a rarity to come by!” He warned. Ellie nodded grinning before launching herself at Deadpool to trap him in a hug.

Deadpool, caught off guard by the sudden show of affection, hovered his hands idly in the air, unsure of where to place them. After a moment’s uncertainty, Deadpool allowed his hands awkwardly hug around the smaller girl.

“Yeah,” He said quietly, one hand awkwardly patting Ellie’s shoulder. “No problem kid.”

“You’re my hero.” She exclaimed, muffled against the mercenary’s shoulder. Peter didn’t miss the way Wade suddenly tensed at the words, promptly pulling Ellie away from himself.

“Welp! Time for you to scurry on in there, wouldn’t want to leave them waiting any longer!” Wade shoed, turning Ellie around to face the orphanage doors. She looked over her shoulders curiously, but smiled as she stepped forward to the doors. While she approached the door, Spider-Man nudged the other and gestured to follow him out of sight. They stood but so that they could still keep an eye on Ellie as she knocked at the door. An older lady stepped out, dark skin, a full head of curls. Peter watched heartwarmingly as she tugged Ellie into her arms. Peter couldn’t hear what she was saying to the younger girl, but it didn’t matter. Ellie was safe.

They decided to call it a night after that. Instead of slinging them closer to home, Peter walked. Deadpool didn’t question it, and quietly walked alongside him.

“So, not sure if I should bring this up… but uh, do you want to talk about it? Feel free to web away at any moment if I’m overstepping boundaries… just, you know. I got’ta ask. Just in case.” Peter looked over at the man walking beside him, surprised, but not by much. He had been suspiciously quiet.

“You overstepped any boundaries I had seven years ago.” Spider-Man deadpanned. Deadpool seemed to draw his brows together beneath his mask.

“Didn’t we meet seven years ago?” He queried, earning a snorted chuckle from Peter. “Harsh.” Deadpool said, betrayed. Peter’s shoulders lightly shook with a soft chuckle.

“You’ve been keeping track?” Peter teased.

“Uh, yes! Who doesn’t when they meet and befriend the one and only Spider-Man? Did I ever mention I’m your biggest fan?” Deadpool reminded. Peter rolled his eyes even as his lips tugged into a smirk.

“Only a hundred times.”

“Definitely more than that.” Deadpool corrected. Peter nodded affirmatively.

“I don’t know about _befriended._ ” Peter joked, awaiting a response. When no retort came his way, Peter looked over at the other man curiously, Deadpool’s shoulder’s were slumped, seemingly moping. “Just kidding?” Peter added quickly. Deadpool perked up at the words, promptly flinging his arms around Spider-Man.

“Aw, you mean it Spidey?” he cheered, clinging to Peter’s shoulders. Peter stumbled at the man’s weight being spontaneously thrown at him, but continued clumsily marching along the sidewalk. They must have been quite the sight to spectators.

“Yep. I’m going to regret saying that.” Peter strained out, still lugging the heavier man along the sidewalk with him. Wade was practically being dragged along the sidewalk, being too preoccupied with hugging Spider-Man to pay attention to walking.

“But seriously, Spidey,” Deadpool continued, freeing Spider-Man from his hold. His voice took on a sudden gravity that Peter had never heard in him before. Like, for once Wade Wilson was being serious. Peter felt an odd mix of unnerved and special.

Shrugging, Peter sighed, recalling their earlier topic.

“It’s nothing.” He lied, but then sighed again, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’s _something_. I don’t know.” Peter’s thoughts were cluttered. Was he really going to spill his guts to Wade of all people? He had only told May, Ben, and Marry Jane. He never got the chance to tell Gwen- not because he didn’t want to, but because it never came up. It was never resurfaced.

“I was a kid when it happened. Memories are usually hazy from childhood but that one stuck.” Peter admitted.

“The ones like that always do.” Wade sympathized. Peter looked over to him, shocked. Wade too? Of all people, Wade? Then it hit Peter and it was so obvious because Wade _noticed_ how Peter was acting differently. Not only that, but Wade was so set on taking Ellie’s mind off of it. He wanted to turn a potentially devastating, life changing event into an incredible one where instead of remembering almost being abducted and God only knows what else, she’d remember meeting Spider-Man and “Cooler” Spider-Man.

Peter could feel a dull connection being made.

Wade was walking alongside him, looking ahead. Peter imagined that beneath the mask, he might look solemn.

“Yeah.” Peter agreed. Something in him urged him to confide in Wade. It was illogical, Peter knew, but there was an overwhelming force urging him to give in and talk. Some part of him was clawing at the back of his mind to reach out.

“There was this guy…” Peter continued. He could see Wade flick his head toward him, but Peter didn’t look back. Just continued.

“He was in high school, I was just getting into middle school. He talked to me one day, called me Einstein and all that, but didn’t mean it as an insult and _believe me,_ that was the first time.”

“So, I thought this guy was pretty cool. He just seemed like one of those really nice dudes who looked out for the little guys.” _Boy did he,_ Peter thought. “He’d walk me home everyday after school. As the nerdy little kid with glasses and a slight overbite, I thought we were friends, you know? He’d compliment me for being smart and sometimes ask me to help him with projects.” Peter recalled. “One time he asked me to come over to hang out so I did.” Peter paused, and swallowed. “I just- I thought… I thought that it would be like every other time, that he was my friend so I didn’t think anything of it, but... well.” Peter paused, taking a breath.

“That was that.” He finalized. Heavy silence followed after, but it was necessarily disquieting. He just wanted Wade to say _something_. He wasn't even sure what he was expecting, confiding in someone like Wade. But then, he didn't know what “someone like Wade” even entailed anymore.

“Good thing you didn't say a name.” Wade finally said. Peter looked over to the other man, raising a brow. “Or not.” he added shortly, his voice taking on a sudden gravity that almost made _Peter_ shiver. Almost. The implied threat on Skip's behalf should have worried Peter, as he never condoned killing.

“Nah. Don't worry about it. My uncle was livid when I finally told him and my aunt. He was the really terrifying, silent-ambiguous angry. I don't know what he did, honestly. He left silently, returned a couple hours later and just went to bed. I never saw the guy again, ever.” Peter explained, a small, doleful smile taking to his lips in remembrance of his late uncle.

“Good thing you had someone to tell.” Wade remarked. Instead of sounding like he was initiating a pity contest, he sounded genuinely grateful that Peter had someone to go to.

Peter's lips parted slightly in a gape as he flicked his gaze over to Wade, a dull throb echoing in his chest.

“You didn't have anyone to tell?” Peter asked, frowning. A bitter laugh escaped Wade's lips.

“Baby boy, if I had guardians I could depend on as a kid, I probably wouldn't be where I am today.” Peter looked down at the sidewalk, chewing at his lip ashamedly, unsure how to respond. Apologizing would be unnecessary, and Wade probably wouldn't want it anyway.

“I'm... I'm happy you told me...” Peter's mouth felt to have moved on it's own. Peter quickly rephrased. “I mean- not like, _happy_ , but- grateful? Uh- you know... for... confiding in me and, it's just...” Peter silently sighed, looking up at the sky with narrowed brows. He was thankful for the mask currently concealing his now undoubtedly flushed face. “Nobody should have to keep something like that locked away.” Peter explained, thankful to have found an explanation. The following seconds of silence were extremely uncomfortable for Peter as he awaited a response from Wade. It was just then that Peter noticed they stopped walking.

“You know Spidey,” “You're adorable when you accidentally fall into a nerdy little Parker stuttering fit.” Peter gaped for a moment before relief settled in him upon hearing a typical response from Wade, followed immediately by exasperation.

“Okay, never mind.” Peter said, exasperated as Wade chuckled cruelly. He hadn't realized that they'd stopped walking until then, looking around and noticing they were close to his apartment complex.

“As much as I'd love to keep pestering you Spidey, I think it's time you hit the hay- not aggressively though, that's rude. Where did that expression even come from? Hit the hay? Why would you ever hit the hay? That's actually really fucked up, what did it do to you?” Wade continued to ramble and Peter found himself staring oddly, a grin betraying his lips and he watched Wade ramble about nothing until he finally tuned in a literally had no idea what Wade was talking about. “Could you imagine that? Fuckin' _awful_ is what it'd be. I'd rather deep-throat a cactus.” And then, betrayed by his own voice, Peter snorted out a laugh, face going flat and silent at how Wade seemed to pause and stare at peter upon earning it. Peter could feel Wade gawking at him from behind the mask and shifted awkwardly, shuffling backwards as he bashfully rubbed his shoulder.

“I uh... I should head out... won't hit the hay too hard, promise.” Peter swore, making a goodbye salute at Wade.

“Right! Right! Off to your apartment. Got brains to rest and college things to do like eat ramen and hate your life choices.” Wade said casually. Once again peter had to bite his lips to keep them from twisting into a smile.

“Don't need college for that last part.” Peter called, twisting around as he headed toward his plaza, rolling his eyes and trying really hard to pretend he was at least a little annoyed. “Hey, wait a minute.” Peter deadpanned, turning. “How did you know my apartment was down this way? I never let you walk me all the way.” Peter accused, looking at Wade who stood stiff, like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Uh... lucky guess?” He said sheepishly, nodding approvingly at his own response. Peter groaned.

“Ugh, Wade, you fucking _followed_ me, didn't you?” Peter denounced, crossing his arms disapprovingly. Wade seemed to visibly deflate, shoulders slumping.

“I _had_ to, Spidey!” He whined. “What if something happened in the five minutes it took you to swing to your apartment?” He rationalized, then, in a hushed tone continued with “What if you got hurt?” Peter frowned at how genuine Wade's concern sounded.

Peter huffed, looking away. He noted the lack of civilians in the area and felt mildly thankful for the lack of activity in the area.

Oddly enough, (but not really _oddly_ because this guy _saved his life_ ) Peter wasn't concerned at all about Wade knowing where he lived. Dare he say it... but he felt as if he was really starting to build trust in Deadpool- in _Wade_.

But Peter wasn't ready to let Wade (or even himself) know that yet. So he pretended to the best of his ability to sound piqued.

“Just don't tell anyone, okay?” He muttered, the words holding no actual value since Peter already knew somehow that Wade wouldn't.

“You got it Spidey!” Peter heard after a cheerful hoot. He definitely was not smiling.

When Peter does get to his apartment, he has to keep reminding himself that Wade isn't doing this for him. It's for whatever shield is offering him whether it be money, redemption for his crimes, or protection from rules, or whatever. Peter reminded himself that this was Deadpool. Deadpool was always in it for something.

But the question kept itching at the back of his mind, even as he slept.

Deadpool didn't have to save him that night. Deadpool didn't have to carry his bloody and beaten body to the Avengers. Deadpool didn't even _have_ to accept this job of bodyguarding Spider-Man, not with the dozens of others he certainly has lined up.

Peter tried to ignore that fact that this meant he was declining other job offers.

Peter wondered silently as sleep overtook him, even as he reasoned that there was probably some incredible reward motivating Deadpool, that ...maybe _Wade_ had to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, I'm sorry for the delay, really. I know what it's like to wait for a fic to update.  
> So, chapters for this will come slower than I hoped just because finding inspiration and motivation lately has been tough. :\  
> Like, I know where I want the story to go, but putting it to paper has been a challenge and I don't want to halfass any chapters. :(
> 
> Also, Skip Westcott is a real character from Peter's childhood, based on a short comic that was written to bring awareness to the subject, and encourage kids to always speak up and tell people when things like this happen. It's technically canon, but it doesn't revolve around the main comics.
> 
> Also!!! Ellie makes an appearance! (:  
> It's up to you whether or not this is an alternate universe where she isn't Wade's daughter, or if you believe she is, but he just doesn't know it. Your call pals~


End file.
